


With You Always

by midnightninja14



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Plus many hugs, There are many feelings to be had here, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2018-12-02 04:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightninja14/pseuds/midnightninja14
Summary: Gentiana’s expression was the same mask of usual serenity, but there was an edge to her voice as she softly spoke, something almost somber. “...The sacrifice you must undertake is a great one, O King. We recognize the magnitude of what we have demanded of you. As such, the gods would prefer to see you go with peace in your heart, so to the Chosen King we bestow a gift.”Noctis was at a loss. “A gift? What kind of gift--? Whoa!”Umbra barked happily, snagging his teeth on Noct’s sleeve and pulling him forward. The world started to fade around Noctis, everything dripping into black and vanishing as Noctis found himself slipping into unconsciousness, his body feeling weightless. The last thing he saw was Gentiana’s face, her eyes still looking directly at him, a small smile curving along her lips.“The gift of time, young King.”(Or: Noctis finally gets his chance for a proper goodbye with Regis, and Regis gets to see the way his son has grown.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting around to posting this! Basically, I always wanted a proper goodbye to happen between Noct and Regis, and of course I also wanted Regis to see the King his son has grown to be. Plus, y'know, give me hugs, SE, you cowards!
> 
> I'll also try to be consistent with updates, so I guess the next update should be next Friday or earlier! 
> 
> Also a big thank you to [The_Asset6](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6) for being a sweetheart and helping me out with the chapter! <3

If he stared at the endless black sky long enough, Noctis could almost believe that he saw the stars. He could almost imagine it was the same starry night sky he had sat under with his friends, around a campfire in an easier time where their only concern was getting to Altissia. The same sky with the stars hidden behind the bright lights of the Crown City, where Noct’s worries circled around school and one day becoming King, his ascension at least feeling like it was years away. No kingdoms fallen, no one dead or injured, no one having suffered through any hardships--just four friends on an adventure, exploring the world. Four friends, safe behind the Wall fueled by the King’s power, ignorant to what their futures would hold.

How Noctis yearned for those times to return, how desperately he wished he could go back. He wished for more time, wished he could stay another night, just one more day in this life… before it all came to an abrupt end.

And if Noctis closed his eyes, just for a moment, he could forget about his impending doom required by a destiny created by gods before he was even born. Noctis could forget that he had run out of time, that he had finally emerged from the Crystal-- _after ten years, he had lost ten whole years of his life and everything was different, how could he have lost so much time, how could he have let his friends and the world suffer in this eternal night for so long-_ -

Noctis was finally free from the Crystal, but burdened by the knowledge of the fate of the Chosen King. Weighed down by his duty as King to his people and to his friends. He couldn’t let them suffer anymore, not when he was the only one who could do something to stop it. The fear that still lingered underneath the surface in the face of his demise had long ago been overlapped by solemn resignation. Time ran unclearly within the Crystal, feeling both like an eternity and no time at all, but that time was enough for him to properly understand what was required of him as the King of Light.

 _“The King of Kings shall be granted the power to banish the darkness, but the blood price must be paid. To cast out the Usurper and usher in dawn’s light will cost the life of the Chosen. Many sacrificed all for the King; so must the King sacrifice himself for all._ ”

He was well aware of the gravity of his situation, of the importance of his true ascension. There was no time left to waste, which was why Noctis had decided to set out as soon as possible to the ruins of Insomnia with his friends beside him. As much as he would have loved the chance to see all his other old friends again--Iris, Cindy, Cid, Cor, Aranea--time was of the essence and the world had suffered for far too long in darkness. Besides, the increased time spent with his closest friends already made it that much harder to leave them. But Noctis couldn’t be selfish, nor could he avoid his destiny any longer.  

Noctis could still clearly remember the day he had left for his journey with his friends at his side, his father alive and his home still standing. To think that their journey would come to an end in the ruins of their beginnings, and Noctis no longer a Prince, but a King who would never get the chance to rule and lead his people. He had grown up, matured, and he was walking tall to face his fate as his father had advised him all those years ago.

But for now, he was just taking a small break. Just… a moment to breathe as they rested beneath the ruins of Insomnia. _Home_.

It had been harder than he thought it would be, to see his friends again. Thankfully alive, but _older_ , so different from the boys he remembered. Familiar, but strangers in a way, and something about that pulled at Noct’s chest because his friends had lived _ten years_  without him. He felt almost like an outsider to them, and to the world.

The men his friends had turned into were no strangers to suffering or war, and they had survived ten years of eternal darkness--an apocalypse that only Noctis could bring to an end. He had missed them dearly, his closest companions, wondering endlessly about them while trapped within the Crystal. To see them now, to witness the world they had been forced to survive in while stuck waiting for their Prince, thier King, their  _friend_ to appear again… The guilt threatened to swallow him whole, but Noctis only smothered it down, maintaining his carefully kept facade of calmness and resolve. He couldn’t hesitate now, and he refused to fail them. Not again.

They had protected him for so long, tried to ensure that he lived as comfortably as possible while being the best friends he ever could have asked for. Noctis would return the favor and do something for them this time, so they could continue living in a better world.

( _A world without him, he had to die in order to bring about that better world, and some part of him wondered if the world and his friends would truly be better off without him--_ )

Returning to the streets of Insomnia, to the Crown City that was once bustling with life, had also been a rather heartbreaking ordeal. To see the ruins of the Citadel in the distance as he and his friends made their way down the familiar streets of the city they had grown up in… to see their _home_  destroyed… Noctis had known, after hearing about the fall of Insomnia all those years ago, that there was no way their once beautiful kingdom would be the same. But it was still difficult to see, to be face-to-face with the reality of it. It was hard to walk down the same streets, to recognize the shops and buildings, and to see how so many things had been annihilated and abandoned in the invasion. To see his home, the place where he had grown up, empty and so _different_ from what he had known, hurt him more than he cared to admit.

Noctis hadn’t been prepared to see _himself_  either, utterly taken aback by the weary, older man staring back at him when he had looked into a mirror after his return. He hadn’t recognized himself; he looked so different from the naive, twenty-year-old boy who had left Insomnia on a road trip with his friends for a marriage meant to bring peace. Ten years apparently made a lot of difference. Ten years of his life completely gone, ten years since his kingdom had fallen, ten years since his father and Lunafreya had died. Ten years the world was kept suffering, ten years he was safe within the Crystal, ten years he forced his friends to wait for his return _._ _Ten fucking years_.

Somehow, his own appearance had made everything seem that much more real, along with seeing the battle-hardened men his friends had grown into in his absence. Time had passed, things had changed and people had grown older. Even Noctis had aged unknowingly, looking so much like King Regis that it had startled him when he had seen his reflection for the first time.

King Regis. The Lucian King who had sent the Crown Prince away to save his life while the King himself fell alongside his kingdom. The father who had sent his son away to protect him, so that he would survive to undertake a greater destiny. His dad who sent him away without telling him a word about the prophecy, and instead chose to send him off as a father would a son, not a King to a Prince.

 _"Wheresoever you should go, the line of Lucis goes with you. Walk tall, my son._ ”

...Gods, he missed his dad. It was still hard to register the fact that it had been _ten_  years since he had seen his father, and to remember that he never would see Regis again because he was _dead_. King Regis who had been betrayed by a man he had trusted for years, the captain who had led the elite group of soldiers the King had blessed with his magic. To think, Imperial General Glauca had been walking amongst them in the Citadel for years as Captain Drautos--to think he was the man who murdered Queen Sylva Nox Fleuret and then years later killed King Regis Lucis Caelum.

Many things had happened to Noctis within the Crystal, as he reflected on the past, over and over and over-- _he had wanted it to stopstopstop why couldn’t he save anyone, he wanted, he wished_ \--

He had seen memories, ghosts, visions, and one such vision had included the Fall of Insomnia. Noctis had seen everything, as though watching the events from another pair of all-seeing eyes. He had seen Kingsglaive members that were not only sworn to protect the King, but sworn to protect each other as a family, turn on each other. He watched as the Hero of the Kingsglaive continued to fight for both hearth and home even as everything burned around him; Nyx Ulric, a man Noctis had considered a friend who had helped him learn how to warp, and who treated him as an equal instead of putting distance between them due to his status. Confident, sarcastic, caring Nyx who Noctis had never heard from again after Niflheim destroyed his home.

Noctis saw the grief when kind and clever Crowe didn’t return home, and the pain when friends turned on one another. His heart clenched as he remembered seeing Lunafreya and his father-- _alive, so blessedly alive and well_ \--had heard their heartfelt conversations and he had seen the relief in Regis’s eyes at seeing Luna again after all these years. After failing to save her in Tenebrae.

He had seen everything. Had learned with shock stealing the breath from his lungs how traitors existed within the Kingsglaive. Had seen how the treaty signing had been a trap, and watched in horror as Ravus had literally cut the Ring of the Lucii from his dad’s finger and put it on, only for it to reject him. Noctis had seen everything, as Clarus was so easily cut down while trying to do his sworn duty of protecting the King with his life, and he mourned the man who had been his Dad’s dear friend, the man who was the father to two people Noctis cared for greatly, the man who had been something like an uncle to Noctis.

Noct could also recall with startling clarity, overwhelming despair, when he had watched the life being leeched from his father’s kind eyes. Saw the way the King’s body had slumped, lifeless, and been carelessly tossed aside by the man who had murdered him, as though he was nothing but a toy. Remembered the words Regis had murmured so resolutely to Luna and Nyx only minutes beforehand, pleas of safety, protection, and for forgiveness. _It had to be done for the sake of the world, Lucian sons had to die for the future to be saved by the Chosen King_.

(Noctis had wept, screamed in frustration, in grief as he had slammed his fists into the ground beneath him. He had begged, pleaded, implored for the chance to save his father somehow, even though Regis had already been dead for quite some time. But his pleas went unanswered, fell upon deaf ears, and it seemed the gods cared little for the Chosen King’s irrational bargaining: “ _Let me save him! Let me take his place! Anything, please, he didn’t deserve this--!_ ”

His father had died, so painfully, so simply. Regis had been killed as his kingdom fell around him, his son ignorant and miles away. He had been a great king, one so powerful, and an equally loving father who had tried so much to give his son a happy life. And just like that, he had been struck down, just like Queen Sylva so many years prior.)

And even then, the horrors hadn’t ceased. Brothers in arms continued to cut each other down, Nyx was forced to don the cursed Ring to save lives while also using it’s power to give a future to those who wished to see it. At the price of his life, when all he had wanted was to bravely protect a princess and a friend.

With the light of the Dawn, Noctis had watched as Nyx’s body slowly dissolved into ash due to the magic of the Ring (would he suffer the same fate?), while the ultimate traitor had gradually bled out in front of him: Captain Drautos who was also General Glauca.

The man who his father had trusted for _years_ as a close companion was the very same man who had betrayed them all along, working for Niflheim from the start. The very same man who had fought alongside King Regis for years, walked beside him as a confidant, was the one who killed the Queen of Tenebrae and later murdered the King of Lucis.

To think, one of the last things that Noctis had told Drautos was regarding Regis: “ _Drautos, he’s in your hands._ ”

 _(And then Drautos had betrayed his father, murdered him, he was deaddeaddead--_ )

Regis had known that the farewell in front of the Citadel would be the final one. He had known that moment would be the last time he ever saw his son. Noctis was fairly certain his father had also known what exactly the fate of the Chosen King entailed, or at least he was aware that Noct’s path wouldn’t be an easy one. And so Regis left his son with the parting words to stay strong, walk tall as a king is meant to. Imparted the fact that the line of Lucis, and Regis himself, would always be with Noctis because he _knew_ what would soon occur.

But Noctis hadn't known. He hadn't known that one moment in time would be the very last time he’d see his father alive, and his kingdom--his _home_ \--still standing. Noctis had many regrets, especially since finding out what was required of him as the King of Light, but perhaps one of the biggest ones was the fact he hadn't given his father a proper goodbye. He never told his dad just how much he meant to him, never thanked him for the way he raised and loved Noctis, never said _I love you_  one more time.

Once more, Noctis found himself wishing for more time. For one more chance.

Noctis let out a soft sigh, staring down at the ground. The air was cool, a chill clinging to him as he stood in the empty halls of the subway, his friends resting for a moment within the underground break room while he took a moment to himself alone. To collect his thoughts, swallow his fears, and compose himself. Noctis wouldn’t falter in front of them; he would only portray the image of the confident King, because that was what the King of Kings was meant to be. Confident, strong, resolved in his goals and duty. The True King wasn’t supposed to lose himself in emotion, and he… Noctis wanted his friends to remember that he had stood tall, in the end. He wanted to prove that he had grown up, and become a King they could be proud of. He didn’t want to let them down after they’ve been with him for so long and waited for him all this time. He _refused_.

...And yet, here he was, trying to hold back his tears as he reminisced on the past, on the things he had lost and would soon forever lose after he did his duty as Chosen King. Here he was, wanting more time that he didn’t have.

The sound of soft footsteps trotting towards him had Noctis looking up, managing a small smile at the dog that had seemingly appeared out of thin air. “Hey there, Umbra.”

It was as if Umbra had sensed Noctis’s desire to go back, to have more time. And with Umbra sitting calmly in front of him, his head tilted to the side as he waited for Noct’s next action--Noctis was _tempted_. Umbra offered him more time in allowing him to go to the past and back to his younger body, before Altissia was destroyed by an angry Astral and everything fell apart around him.

But Noctis had already called upon Umbra earlier, unable to handle seeing this new world and seeing how his friends had aged--seeing how _he_  had aged--and knowing that everything was coming to a rushed ending. Knowing how he would have to say goodbye to his friends again after he was finally reunited with them after ten years, realizing how he would have to explain exactly what the fate of the King of Kings entailed and endure their reactions. Knowing how his death was on the horizon, as was the Light he was going to die for that he would never see--knowing that the last place he would be alive would be in the remains of his own home. And knowing that his story was coming to a close, and his tale if-- _when_ he succeeded would likely become one of legend, the boy behind the title of Chosen King becoming no more.

He had gone back, taking solace in the fact that while he was in the past, it was as if time in the present froze. Noctis took the chance to just… _live_ , though the weight of what he still had to do was forever in the back of his mind. As if he could ever forget it. In a way, going back in time and seeing the world as it had once been, basking in the warmth of the sun and memorizing the mesmerizing sight of the world in the light of the Dawn, seeing his friends young and _happy_ … it had just hammered home how significant Noct’s duty was. He wanted to bring back that bright world, wished so desperately that he could return the easy smiles his friends were able to sport once upon a time.

Though, no matter how many times he went back, he would never see his father again. All Noctis had were memories of what he once had and what had been lost. Noct believed he should focus on the present, and all he could do now was follow the path of an inescapable fate, one that had been written for him in the stars before he had even been born. So many people had died so that Noctis could carry out his destiny. He had to keep moving forward, and meet with the Accursed, the Fallen King sitting upon a stolen throne, and finally finish everything.

Noctis kneeled down, petting Umbra’s head while speaking softly, “Hey, buddy. I don’t know why you’re here, but… I shouldn’t keep running back to the past. I can’t keep everyone waiting. Dad wanted me to walk tall, so that’s what I have to do.”

“And yet, your heart is conflicted. You wish for more time, and desire a proper farewell.” Noct glanced behind him at the new voice, not at all surprised to see Gentiana slowly striding in his direction. “You seek peace, O King of the Stone.”

“Gentiana…” Noctis stood, nodding his head to her in greeting.

“Greetings, Chosen King. The culmination of your journey draws near, and the prophecy of the King of Light will come to fruition.” Her eyes were open, a rare sight, her all-knowing gaze boring into his. Gentiana’s expression was the same mask of usual serenity, but there was an edge to her voice as she softly spoke, something almost somber. “...The sacrifice you must undertake is a great one, O King. We recognize the magnitude of what we have demanded of you. As such, the gods would prefer to see you go with peace in your heart, so to the Chosen King we bestow a gift.”

Noctis was at a loss. “A gift? What kind of gift--? Whoa!”

Umbra barked happily, snagging his teeth on Noct’s sleeve and pulling him forward. The world started to fade around Noctis, everything dripping into black and vanishing as Noctis found himself slipping into unconsciousness, his body feeling weightless. The last thing he saw was Gentiana’s face, her eyes still looking directly at him, a small smile curving along her lips.

“The gift of time, young King.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis wakes up to light in a familiar place, in what seems to be a dream of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [The_Asset6](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6) for helping me out again! You... are the best <3

Noctis came to with a gasp, his eyes flying open only to hurriedly squeeze shut again at the blinding brightness assaulting his vision.

_Wait. Light…?_

Slowly, Noctis blinked open his eyes once more, first noting the few rays of sunlight streaming into the room from the small gap between the curtains that framed a window. He was lying on something soft, his head cushioned by what felt like a pillow. He glanced around, seeing the bookshelves towering over him to his left, behind the back of the couch he was resting on. To his right on the other side of the room, there were more shelves plus a rather large wooden desk. Stacks of papers sat on the desk, along with picture frames and other miscellaneous items. _He knew this place_.

He sat up slowly, looking down at himself and realizing with surprise that he was still dressed in his Kingly Raiment. The Ring of the Lucii was still on his finger, and when he raised a hand to his face, he could feel the beard his older self had. He was still the thirty-year-old man who had emerged from the Crystal into an apocalyptic world, his shoulders burdened by the weight of his true destiny. And now the thirty-year-old Chosen King had just woken up into what must be a dream, because not only was there light, but he was somehow seated in King Regis’s personal office within the walls of the Citadel. He was _home_.

Noctis rose to his feet, still unable to believe that he was standing in his father’s study again. The area looked just as Noct remembered it, it even smelled the same: the scent of old books hung in the air, along with the familiar tang of magic that followed the users of Lucian magic, an aroma reminiscent of rain. He looked back behind him at the black couch he had woken up upon, running his fingers over the cool-to-the-touch leather of the arm rest. Noct had sat on the very same couch dozens of times before, moreso when he had been a child. He remembered sometimes sitting in the room on that couch, quietly reading a book or scribbling away a child’s colorful drawing while his father worked at the desk. As a child, Noct remembered how often he would glance at the King’s profile, admiring how regal Regis looked, and wishing Regis would look his way.

And as if sensing his thoughts, Regis would always look to Noctis with the warmest smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he gazed adoringly at his son. Sometimes, Regis would abandon his work and go to sit with Noctis instead, pulling the boy into his lap and eagerly asking about whatever activity Noct was currently working on. And Noctis had always been so excited to spend time with his dad, animatedly talking about his book or explaining the components of his crayon drawing. Regis would always give him his undivided attention in these moments, seeming to have no worries at all as he enjoyed time with his son.

On the shelves behind the couch, Noctis could see the children’s books that Regis had put specifically for Noct to enjoy as a kid. When Noctis walked over and pulled out one of the books he had favored as a child--though nothing compared to the bedtime stories Regis had told him--he couldn’t help but smile, fingers tracing over the pretty pictures. He remembered how Regis would read the book to him no matter how many times he asked, and his dad would always do different voices depending on the character who was speaking. It had never failed to enrapture Noct in the story and make him laugh, which in turn had made Regis chuckle too as he would ruffle Noctis’s hair affectionately.

Placing the book back, Noct strolled to the large desk against the other wall, sliding his fingers across the smooth wooden surface. He could see letters of correspondence that Regis had yet to answer, and also saw notes with bits of his father’s elegant handwriting. He traced the familiar arching letters, feeling an ache in his chest, recalling seeing the same handwriting in cards or letters his dad had given him in the past. After initially waking up from the coma he had been in as a child, despite having woke up after spending so much time asleep, weariness had clung to Noctis like a chill he couldn’t shake. His body had been weakened in the daemon attack, and recuperation had made him drowsy, so many of his days after waking up were spent in and out of consciousness. He remembered how he had once awoken to find a letter on his bedside table, an apology letter from his father about how he regretted the fact he hadn’t been able to save Noctis from getting injured in the first place. Near the end of the letter, Regis had mentioned how much he loved Noctis, and how he prayed everyday for his swift recovery. Noctis had studied those beautiful, sweeping letters, memorizing the heartfelt words with tears in his eyes.

He remembered the next time Regis had visited his room after Noct had read the emotional letter; he had woken up to find his father sitting beside his bed, holding his hand comfortingly. Noctis had made sure to tell his dad there was nothing for him to be sorry for, managing to get the words out though his voice had been hoarse from disuse. Regis had only squeezed his hand a little tighter after that, murmuring affectionate words with a soft smile, his eyes shining suspiciously.

Noctis had kept the letter all these years, the paper a precious possession of his, and he still had it as a treasure of sorts. Always kept it on him, safe in his personal pocket of Astral space. Sometimes during his journey with his friends, late at night when he missed his father and found himself struggling with self-doubt, Noctis had found himself reading over the words and imagining his father’s voice. As if his father was speaking directly to him, as if he was still _alive_. And on some of those lonely nights when he struggled to remember the way Regis’s voice sounded, while Noct was sitting on the edge of a Haven, leaning against the outside of a caravan, or looking out a window in a luxurious hotel room, Noctis would stare up at the stars, listening to some of the old voicemails his dad had left him. It was the only way he had to hear his dad’s voice again.

Regis also kept picture frames on his desk, many featuring Noctis at various ages, mostly childhood. He even had framed a picture Noctis had drawn as a kid, a sloppy depiction of the two of them in the Regalia. If Noctis remembered correctly, it had been a gift one year for Father’s Day. Regis had treated it as though Noctis had given him something priceless, sweeping Noctis into a hug and joyfully thanking him for such a stunning picture. A smile still worked its way onto Noct’s face whenever he recalled that memory, his chest warming with bubbling fondness and his heart aching from the nostalgia.

A fresh vase of pretty pink flowers sat on one of the far corners of the desk, the very same ones Regis always had in his study, the flora not only adding color to the room but emitting a sweet aroma that Noct found comforting. Once, when Noct was younger, sitting upon Regis’s lap as the King had worked, Noct had asked about the flowers. Regis had stopped his writing, shifting a bit so he could look at Noctis properly, something melancholy reflected in his eyes. His dad had explained the flowers, pink carnations, had been a favorite of Aulea’s, and Regis liked having that piece of her with him. The forlorn smile on his father’s face had made Noctis feel a bit of regret for inquiring about the blooms, but he had also liked learning a bit more about the mother he never knew.

(In his many studies, Ignis had also learned of the language of flowers, finding the meanings attributed to different flowers intriguing. Noctis had offhandedly asked him once when they were teenagers if pink carnations meant anything, and Noctis never forgot Ignis’s answer: “ _Those particular flowers symbolize a mother’s undying love_.”)

Noctis reached out, his fingers brushing over the soft petals of the flowers before he pulled his hand back and rested it on the back of the chair in front of the desk. He remembered often seeing Regis sitting in this same chair, at this desk, working away diligently as the epitome of a monarch. Sometimes, Regis had allowed young Noctis to sit on his lap while he was reading or responding to letters, and Noct would make up ways for his dad to reply to the various nobles and royals that were less than appropriate.

( _“Lord Brunus? He was the loud one from Accordo at the party, right? With the weird mustache? I didn’t like him.” Noctis sat up straighter, trying to make his voice deeper as he imitated the noble, “It really is quite the surprise, these Lucians have better fashion than I imagined! And the food isn’t as gross as I thought! Since Accordo has better food, did I tell you I’m from Accordo, it’s the best, look at my mustache!!”_

_Regis bit back his laughter, covering it with a cough. “Now Noctis, you shouldn’t imitate the esteemed guests who attend the events we hold.”_

_“But daaaaad! He was mean! He kept saying how much better Accordo was compared to Insomnia! And he told me I was “well-behaved for a Lucian child”.” Noctis pouted, pointing to the letter Regis had been reading over. “Maybe you should reply and tell him that he can never come back because his mustache is too ugly!”_

_“Noctis!” Regis could help his chuckles that time. “I’m afraid that wouldn't be a very kingly thing to do, even if his mustache was rather hideous.”_

_“What if you ban his weird, puffy clothes? Or the stinky perfume he wears?”_

_“Unfortunately, I can’t do either of those things. But…” The king winked at his son, a twinkle in his eyes. “Perhaps there will be a mishap and dear, clumsy Cor will stumble and accidentally drop his drink on the man at the next ball. Then Lord Brunus will have no choice but to end the night early!”_

_From where he stood just inside the door of the study, Cor let out a heavy sigh while Noctis burst into giggles.)_

Looking next to him, Noctis noted how the largest window in the room that was against the back wall, opposite the door, was completely covered by black curtains. The small window next to Regis’s desk was only partially covered, the light streaming from it being the same that had initially surprised him upon waking up. He walked over to the larger window, remembering how it had had the best view of Insomnia and he gripped onto the soft curtains, pausing for a moment. Some part of him still wondered if this was all real, and what exactly Noctis was doing here. Would this odd illusion somehow break if he opened the curtains and let more light into the room?

He steeled himself, pulling back one curtain with a hand and squinting at the bright light that burned his eyes. Blinking to adjust his vision, a soft sigh escaped him as he took in the beautiful view of the Crown City, just as he remembered it. Magnificent towering buildings, people bustling in the streets below, a gorgeous blue sky filled with fluffy white clouds, and the city illuminated by the warm sun. Noctis placed his free hand on the glass, as if he could touch the image in front of him, as if he could feel the heat of the sun from the window. The city looked so different in present time, so desolate and _empty_. He wondered if it would one day be restored to it’s former glory.

Not that Noctis would ever be able to see that happen.

Staring out into the city below, the very city he had grown up in and had spent a majority of his life within, it was hard to comprehend the fact that it all had been destroyed so quickly. But he had seen the devastation first-hand, ten years after the fall of Insomnia, and the kingdom had never recovered from Niflheim’s invasion. All those years ago after departing on his journey, Noctis had never thought he wouldn’t be able to return home for so long, and then when he finally was able to… nothing had been the same.

His heart ached, and he closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. He had missed his home more than he ever thought he would. Noctis wished so badly he could stay in this weird dream, where his home still stood tall. He thought of exploring, about to move from the window and leave his father’s quiet study, when voices just outside the door drifted to his ears. Familiar ones that had the blood in his veins turning cold.

“...must tread cautiously, Your Majesty. Nothing about that man seemed trustworthy.”

“I agree, we must be wary. Why would Niflheim propose such a thing after all this time? It doesn't make sense.”

The next voice made Noctis’s heart stop, his eyes wide and his hand falling away from where it had been pressed against the window. “I know, Clarus, Cor. …But I fear we may have no options left.”

The door opened then, and Noctis let the curtain fall back down, the light in the room immediately dimming but not enough to hide his presence. _This couldn't be real. There was no way._

Noctis couldn't bring himself to turn around, to face the people-- _were they real? Were they just ghosts, phantoms of the past, figments of a dream--_ behind him. He couldn’t turn even as he heard a surprised sharp inhale, heard the sound of a sword being partially unsheathed, heard the soft creak of a leg brace as the leg tensed up and the sharp tap of a cane hitting the floor.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Clarus questioned, his voice low and intimidating.

Noct couldn’t answer, completely frozen in his shock. Besides, there was no way they would possibly believe him. What could he possibly say? “ _Hey, Dad! It’s uh, me, your son. Just ten years older than the last time you saw me, and also ready to die to save the world. No big deal!”_

But Noctis also had nothing to lose, even if they didn’t believe him. This dream world would just continue on until he finally managed to wake up, and then Noctis would have to face his destiny once more. Yet he still wished to stay even longer in this odd dream, where the sun still rose, his kingdom still stood, and his father was still alive. ... A dream? When had Noctis fallen asleep? What had he been doing before he awakened in this fragment of the past that no longer existed--

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, shaking him from his thoughts, and the sound of a katana being fully unsheathed had Noctis straightening up. He swallowed, before speaking quietly, “Would you believe me if I said I woke up in here?”

“Impossible.” Cor immediately shut him down, the tip of his katana pressing threateningly into Noctis’s back.

“...Is this actually a dream?” Noctis couldn’t help but question, his heart pounding in his chest. “It has to be, this can’t be...”

“I’d appreciate if you’d start making sense and tell us the truth within the next few seconds.” Clarus interjected, presumably from his spot next to his King’s side. “Otherwise, we’ll be forced to take action. We won’t allow you to harm His Majesty.”

“That attire… And your voice sounds familiar...” Regis murmured, his confused words belying his calm tone. Noctis's breathing hitched at very sound of his father’s voice again, clear and alive.

“...Gods, you all sound so real.” Noctis took a deep breath to steady himself, trying to drown out the warring feelings of grief and nostalgia. “I’m no threat to any of you. Can I turn around?”

Noct waited a moment, before Cor let out a sigh, pulling back his katana a bit and allowing Noctis to turn and finally face them. His breath left him in a rush as he finally gazed at the very real-looking men standing there. In the middle was Regis, standing tall as he always did, his gaze carefully guarded as he observed Noct. He looked exactly as how Noctis remembered, the final time he saw his father before he left the Crown City, and the sight of him--all of them, in this dream-world where everything still brimmed with _life_ \--almost sent him to his knees. The intensity with which the three men were currently staring at him made him want to hide away, feeling oddly nervous under their piercing gazes. But no, a King was meant to stand his ground, he couldn’t falter, had to maintain his facade of being calm and collected because if he didn’t then how would he continue to move forward when he _woke up again_ \--

“... _Who are you_?” Regis took a step forward, something hard glinting in his eyes. “Some sort of trick of the Empire? Those eyes--I would recognize those eyes _anywhere_. What sort of sorcery is this? I swear by the Six, if _any_ harm has come to my son for you to look so similar to him--”

“...I am him.” Noctis kept his stance straight, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked directly into his father’s eyes, trying to quell the confusion and vague anxiety bubbling within him as he reiterated, “It’s me, Dad.”

“That isn’t possible. His Highness is clearly younger than you, so while you may share a vague likeness, the only logical conclusion is that you are some trick created by Niflheim. This timing is too convenient to be a coincidence.” Clarus narrowed his eyes, moving to stand in front of Regis once more, his sword at the ready.

“If you really are His Highness…” Cor shifted, his stance turning into something more battle-ready as he glared at Noctis. “Then surely you’ll be able to easily avoid my attacks or counter them?”

He didn’t give Noctis a chance to reply, quickly rushing forward with his sword swinging overhead. Noctis didn’t hesitate, easily reacting by calling upon his Engine Blade from the Astral Sphere, parrying Cor’s strike. Using the opportunity to truly prove his identity to the trio, he let his sword fade into fractures of crystallized light before pulling out a dagger and warping to the other end of the room with it. Clarus and Regis were watching with wide eyes while Cor was still moving forward for another blow with his katana. With a wave of his hand, Noct’s Armiger sprang to life around him, the swords circling before Noct directed them to act as a shield against Cor’s incoming attack.

Cor had frozen, surprise breaking through his normally neutral expression. The Immortal’s gaze flickered over to the Ring of the Lucii now visible on Noct’s finger, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate as he lowered his blade. Noctis evaporated the Armiger, quietly watching, waiting for one of the other three men to make a move. To say something. He found himself at a loss, his body stiffening up under their shocked scrutiny.    

Regis was finally the one to make the first move, walking forward until he was only a few steps away from his son. “...Noctis? Is it truly you?”

“This…” Noctis swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He struggled to get his words out, the well of emotions within him only growing as he came to a realization about his current situation. “...This isn’t a dream, is it?”

“...This is very much reality, Highness,” Cor said, moving back and bowing properly in greeting.

Clarus walked so he stood closer to Cor, still eyeing both Regis and Noct who stood only a few feet apart. His gaze shifted back and forth between the two royals, as though he was comparing the differences--similarities, between them. “Though reality has taken a turn for the strange. Can you tell us why you have appeared here, Your Highness, and in such an appearance as well? What magic is this?”

“It’s been a long time since anyone has addressed me as “Your Highness”,” Noctis muttered with a sad chuckle, missing the somberness that momentarily flashed in each of the older men’s eyes. Noct thought back to what had happened before he had woken up in the study, finally vaguely remembering a woman with piercing green eyes and the words she had spoken before he had slipped away. “As for why I’m here… I think the Astrals decided to give the Chosen King a gift.”

“A gift?” Regis asked, his expression turning pained at the mention of Noct’s title of Chosen King.

“The gift of time,” Noctis murmured, feeling as though he was in a daze as he met his father’s kind hazel eyes once more. He took a step forward, another and another until their proximity was close enough that Noctis could see the way Regis’s chest rose and fell with each breath. Unthinkingly, Noctis lifted one of his hands, inching it towards his father with the urge to touch, to _feel_ that it was truly him, that he was truly real and _alive_ standing before him. But his hand jerked back halfway, freezing mid-air, afraid of the possibility that _none of this was real_.

Noct’s expression twisted, a mix of a sort of fragile hope and grief, his voice tinged with unshed tears, “...It’s really you? This isn’t some weird illusion? This is real? ”

Regis’s gaze turned melancholy in the face of his son’s hesitation, at the grief in his weary blue eyes. The King gently took his son’s outstretched hand, bringing it to his cheek and gracing his son with a soft smile. “Yes, my son. This is all real. I’m here.”

Noctis gasped at the warmth he could feel emanating from his dad, at the softness of Regis’s hand covering his own. It was _real_. He was actually here, back in his _home_ , standing there with his Dad whom had been dead for ten years. Noctis actually had another chance to see his father again, to give his dad a proper _goodbye_ , to tell him how much he loved him--he could see his dad again and hear his voice without using old voicemails left on his phone. He was safe in his home, and standing with his Dad again who was alive in this moment.

In front of his father, the Chosen King could turn back to not a king, not a prince, but a _son_. A kid, because while his body had aged within the captivity of the Crystal, he hadn’t really been aware of the passage of time, and in all honesty he still sometimes felt like the same twenty-year-old naive prince who still had so much to learn, had so much of the world left to experience and explore. He just wasn’t allowed to be that boy anymore, he _couldn’t_ be--he had to be the King of Light, ready to save the world.

But not now, not in front of his Dad. In this moment, Noctis thought that maybe he was allowed to drop his status as savior, as king. Just for a little while. He would still reclaim his throne, but… just a moment to himself. A break, a respite, a breather. Before everything came to an end.

The tears that had welled up in Noctis’s eyes fell then, and with a choked back sob, Noctis let himself fall forward into his father’s inviting, comforting embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regis struggles to connect the older man before him to his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a big thank you to [The_Asset6](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6) for being a darling! <3

Regis Lucis Caelum had seen much in his life, had experienced many things, both before and after ascending to the throne. However, time travel was a first, both for him and his companions. It was… unnerving, to say the least, to have entered his study and stumbled across a grown man that looked so alike to him he almost did a double-take. But _oh_ , those eyes were unmistakable, a mirror image of his beloved Aulea’s own shade of beautiful blue.

And yet, Regis still found himself having difficulties connecting the weary, battle-worn man before him to his quiet, sweet son. This older version of his son, who stood with the stance of a king, but had eyes dulled by the burden of knowledge, of reality, and had shoulders weighed down by the heaviness of an unfair fate. Noctis looked as though he hadn’t gotten an adequate amount of rest in years; his voice when he spoke even seemed to drip with exhaustion, sounding as though it was rough from a long time of disuse. Regis stared at the stress-lines etched into Noct’s skin and the bags beneath his eyes that seemed permanent, the hollowness to his cheeks, the stiffness to his movements as though his limbs and joints _ached_  from the strain of magic, even the new way his hair was styled made him seem so much more mature--when had his little boy grown into a man that was so reminiscent to Regis that it almost scared him? How much time had passed for this version of his son, and what had his darling boy had to endure during his journey?

Before Noctis had even been born, Regis could remember wishing he could create a life of peace for his future child. And after Noctis had been born, as Regis had finally held his baby son in his arms and Noctis had stared up at Regis with his big blue eyes, smiling so innocently as his tiny fingers wrapped around Regis’s index finger--Regis had vowed then, to try and give his son a life that had as little pain as possible. His son wouldn’t have to know the burden of wearing the Ring of the Lucii, of having to maintain the Wall protecting Insomnia, of having his lifeforce being drained constantly by what was considered a blessed heirloom from the Astrals. Regis wanted to protect the innocence in that midnight blue gaze along with his son’s sweet smile; he wanted Noct’s laughter to be a sound that came easily and wished that his heart would be unburdened.

But then, when Noctis was five, Regis learned that his son was the Chosen King, destined to purge their star of the scourge. And later that day, Regis had _wept_ in the privacy of his chambers. Mourned over his son’s fate, one so cruel, and one that doomed Noctis to not only a short life, but one full of pain and obstacles. The path of the King of Light would not be an easy one, that much Regis clearly understood, but he could do nothing to spare Noctis that suffering. He could still remember with startling clarity how Noctis had looked up at him, confusion clear in his expression as he asked Regis about what it meant to be the Chosen King.

(“ _Does that mean I’ll be a really good king, Dad?” The question had all the innocence of a child, yet it pained Regis in a way he couldn’t explain as he stared down at his sweet little boy. Looked into those blue eyes that were identical to the ones of a girl he had had met in his childhood, his dear Queen whom he had loved and lost._

 _Regis swallowed past the lump in his throat, ignoring the way he was screaming on the inside, cursing the gods for making this innocent child--his_ **_son_** _\--have to carry the burden of fixing the mistakes of the Astrals. His boy was so young, and should have had a bright life ahead of him, one where he grew up and ascended the throne, leading their people forward. But such a thing would be denied him, for the Chosen King was doomed to die young, in order to rid the world of the Accursed and the Starscourge. He wondered if Noctis would even get the chance to rule, wondered how he should explain to his son exactly what his title would mean for him. Only those closely tied to the Lucis Caelum royals knew what the prophecy called for, and Noctis would need to learn it someday. Noctis would need to know what his future entailed._

_And yet, as Regis gazed at his son… he couldn’t do it. Perhaps in the future, when time called for the knowledge to be passed down, but in this moment, Regis couldn’t rob his son of the innocence he still held. The optimism for the future, the brightness in his eyes, the joy in his laughter._

_Knowledge so heavy would only darken Noct’s light, and would forever weigh on both his mind and shoulders. No, Regis wanted Noctis to live freely, for as long as possible. He desperately wished for his son’s happiness, for as long as Noctis could have it._

_With that thought in mind, Regis kneeled down, gathering Noctis into his arms and hugging him to his chest. He ran his fingers through Noct’s soft hair, squeezing his child just a bit tighter while holding back his tears._

_“Yes, Noctis. You will be the greatest King that ever was, the pride of the Lucis Caelum bloodline._

_“I will?” Noctis grinned, practically vibrating with excitement as he happily hugged his father back. “I won’t let you down, dad!”_

_“Oh, my son…” Regis’s heart was aching, tears stinging his eyes. “...You will do us all proud. You could never let me down, my dear boy.”_

_Regis took Noctis out for a drive in the Regalia afterwards, a small private trip for the two of them since Noctis adored being inside the Regalia, along with being excited by the chance to spend time with his father. It always warmed his heart to see how Noctis would practically bounce in place when he mentioned going on a drive in the Regalia, and the rapt attention Noctis would give to everything passing by the windows as they drove along was so endearing it almost hurt. The bright, youthful glow to Noct’s blue eyes when Noctis would glance his way with the biggest grin--Regis wanted so badly to keep that expression on his darling son’s face._

_Rides in the Regalia never failed to relax Noctis to the point of making him doze off, curled up and sleeping soundly, similarly to a cat. Regis didn’t have the heart to wake him, not when Noctis looked so calm and peaceful while asleep, so he just gingerly carried his son out of the car instead, ready to go inside the Citadel. But he stopped, froze in place as he hugged Noctis’s small, warm body to his chest. His dear boy, fated to die for the world. He was just a boy._

_Tears slipped down Regis’s cheeks, and he hugged Noctis closer to him, softly whispering a vow he knew he would inevitably break, “I will be with you, always.”_ )

After learning of Noct’s fate, Regis had immediately gone to the Crystal, demanding-- _begging_  the Draconian to take him instead, and spare his son. But his cries and pleas went unanswered. Noctis was the Chosen King, and he would die for their world or the world would fall to ruin. The knowledge that his son would have an incredibly challenging future that Regis couldn’t protect him from made the normally mild-mannered king want to scream, made him _furious_. For a moment, King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII did not think as a king, but as a father.

And as a desperate father, he imagined forsaking the world, if only to spare his son’s life. Why was it _his_ son that was chosen for such an ordeal, such a fate? The prophecy of the Chosen King had existed for centuries, which meant that Noctis’s fate to _die_  had been written in the stars since before he was even born. Had his dear, precious child only been born into this world to sacrifice himself? This cruel world that would steal away his son’s easy smile, his carefree laughter. This world that would kill his son, extinguish the light of Noct’s life so that the world may yet survive, with no care for the boy--the prince, the  _king_ \--that would die for it?

Regis wanted to let the world _burn_. He yearned to bundle up his little boy and steal him away into the night with the Regalia, forsaking the prophecy of the King of Light. What gave the world, the Astrals, the right to his _son_? They did not deserve him. They didn’t deserve his darling child, his only son, who smiled so brightly and loved so deeply. The world was so much brighter with Noctis in it, so why was it his fate to die and bring back the Light? It wasn't fair, it wasn't _right_.

But Regis knew full well how unfair the world could be. He knew there was nothing he could do, for how does one go against the gods? How does one defy fate? Regis would be unable to maintain his vow of giving Noctis a life with little pain, but perhaps he could at least allow Noctis a mostly happy life for as long as Regis lived. All he could do was hope that despite whatever awaited Noctis as he grew older and eventually embarked on his journey, Noctis would still be able to find happiness.

Happiness, laughter, freedom. The man standing before Regis seemed devoid of all three things. He wondered if this version of his son still found himself able to smile easily--if Noctis still _had_ things to smile about in whatever future he came from. The strength in his son’s stance had something like pride flashing within Regis, and he admired just how _regal_ Noctis looked, dressed in his Kingly Raiment and even wearing the Ring of the Lucii--though Regis had never wanted him to-- _he never wanted this for his boy, he wanted his son to be free_ \--

All Noctis was missing was the silver crown that adorned Regis’s own ear, and yet without it Noctis still looked to be every bit a king. _Oh_ , but to see those blue eyes, once so bright and vibrant with vitality, darkened so with grief and exhaustion, to see in his son’s eyes the somber resignation of one who knew they had to undergo something immensely painful for the greater good--it pulled at Regis’s chest. To see just how _different_ Noctis looked, this older man who seemed to exude tiredness and appeared battered from what was surely a difficult future, and to think about the present version of his son that Regis knew. His twenty-year-old son, fresh-faced and his eyes alight with youth, his voice soft but carrying no pain, his smile rare but unburdened.

Seeing this version of Noctis, with his dark hair and scruffy new beard, it was as if Regis was looking into a mirror and seeing himself when he was younger, before he had aged rapidly due to the draining powers of the Ring of the Lucii and the strain of maintaining the Wall. But the weariness that clung to this older Noctis like a second skin, the now seemingly ever-present bags underneath his solemn blue eyes that were dimmed from the knowledge of an unfair reality, the paleness to his skin that made him seem washed out, and the sunkenness of his cheeks--those traits were all ones shared with Regis in present time. Noctis had always shared a greater likeness to Aulea with his soft features, his youthful heart-shaped face, and his eyes the color of the deep ocean. But this older version of his son bore such a striking resemblance to Regis that it shook him to the core.

He remembered then, a dream he had had when Noctis was but a boy, a year or two after learning about Noct’s fate of being the Chosen King. Regis remembered seeing darkness, the world around him in ruin, with no one in sight. The once bustling streets of Insomnia, the once proudly standing Citadel--his _home_ was empty and desolate. And as he had strolled through the barren halls of his home, a voice inside him begging him not to continue forward, his feet pulled him to the throne room. In the distance, Regis had been able to see a man upon the throne in his dream, the spectres of the Old Kings surrounding the room and illuminating everything with a blue glow. _Oh_ , Regis had thought as he slowly moved closer, _this must be a vision of my death_. For the figure on the throne was dressed in the very same Kingly Raiment that Regis wore and held the Sword of the Father in his hands, and though the man’s head was bowed forward, Regis was so very sure it was himself he was seeing. Until he got closer. Until he saw the head of black hair and finally got a glimpse of dark blue eyes that were hazy with pain. _His boy_. Regis realized then that this vision was one of the demise of the King of Light, his darling boy, his _son_. It was his son, noticeably older and his hands trembling as he gripped the Sword of the Father for support, that was sat upon the throne--about to _die_ upon it. All alone, quietly suffering; Noctis was still facing his destiny head-on, seemingly ready to die on the throne that he should have sat upon as King, instead changed into the place he would meet Death. How cruel the gods were, to show Regis this vision of the future, of a future he couldn’t protect Noctis from no matter how much he wished to. And yet the Astrals were even crueller it seemed, as Regis was forced to take his sword from his son’s hands, tears streaming down his cheeks, his body uncaring to the way he was internally screaming in despair as he thrust his sword into his son’s chest. Regis remembered waking up in tears, checking his hands to see if they were stained with his son’s _blood_  like they had been in the dream. Later that morning, at the first chance he got, he had hugged Noctis so tightly, wishing so desperately-- _fruitlessly_ , that he could keep Noctis safe within his embrace.

How tragic a fate, for this to be the way their bloodline would end. For that to be the way his son would be _killed_ like a lamb for slaughter for a cursed prophecy written by uncaring gods. For the way that Regis would be the one to kill _his son,_ his darling boy--he had been there for his son’s birth and now he would be there for his son’s death. Noctis’s blood would be on his hands, and there was nothing Regis could do to prevent it and he _grieved_.

The older Noctis before him was the same one from his dream, and Regis knew what awaited his darling son in the end. He wondered if Noctis knew the details of how his ascension--his _sacrifice_ \--would play out. Did he know that Regis would land the killing blow, in the end? No, it couldn’t be, how would Noctis still look at him the same way if he knew? Did he fear or bemoan the way his life would be cut so short? As Regis stared at his son, he could detect no fear in his gaze, only solemn acceptance.

The man before Regis truly was the King of Light, ready for his ascension, steel resolve and resignation in his eyes. Despite the exhaustion clear in his expression, Noctis stood tall, and it filled Regis with a sense of both pride and wonder, being able to see his son like this. Seeing his son wield a full Armiger with ease was also a stunning sight; the way he had easily parried and shielded himself from Cor’s attacks was immensely impressive and if Regis were younger, if times were lighter, he would have fancied a spar for fun. But even more important than the show of Noctis’s power, more important than his aged appearance, was the way Noctis was looking at Regis.

 _Oh_ , but his precious son, the way Noctis was looking at him now as though he couldn’t believe it was truly Regis standing before him broke Regis’s heart. The despair, the hesitant hope, the wary doubt was clear in Noctis’s expression, and seeing the shine of tears in those familiar blue eyes almost had tears threatening Regis’s own eyes. Especially when Noctis asked if what he was seeing was truly real--if _Regis_  himself was real, his voice so soft and disbelieving as though he just couldn’t believe his eyes. And Regis knew. For this older Noctis, his father had already died and left the throne along with the title of king to him. Regis wondered if he had ever told this Noctis what his fate entailed, if he ever gathered up the courage. Or had he sent Noctis off with a smile, unable to escape the desire to allow Noct to live in his blissful ignorance for just a little longer?

In this moment, despite how much older his son appeared, to Regis he was still just a child. His darling boy, who continued to stare at him as though if he were to blink, Regis would disappear along with everything around him. Noctis reached a hand out towards him, as though he intended to ascertain whether Regis was real or not through touch, but he froze midway and finally Regis saw something like fear flashing in those tired blue eyes. There was something so childlike about Noctis in this moment, and it made a sad smile curl over Regis’s lips.   

Gently, Regis took Noctis’s hand, noting the chill that seemed to cling to his son’s pale skin, as though it hadn’t been touched by the sun for a while, and he brought it to his face. The metal of the Ring was cold against his cheek, but it did nothing to dampen the warmth in Regis’s expression as he gazed down at his son. “Yes, my son. This is all real. I’m here.”

Suddenly it wasn’t two kings standing face-to-face, but a father and his son. And his son seemed to realize that as well, for a moment allowing his persona of the Chosen King to fall, the weight of the world disappearing from his shoulders. Noctis seemingly couldn’t hold back his tears then, and Regis--Regis would _always_  be there when his son had need of him. So he pulled Noctis towards him until his son’s head rested just below his chin, wrapping one arm around tense shoulders while his ran his fingers soothingly through Noct’s longer hair. Regis could sense Cor and Clarus still behind them, both politely silent as they allowed the father and son a moment to themselves, and Regis paid them little mind as they quietly left the room to stand guard outside. All his attention was on his son, his child, and the kingdom could wait for once, as he took a moment for his darling boy and hugged his smaller form tightly, hoping he was properly conveying what he felt through both touch and speech.

“I’m here, Noctis. I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mention of Regis having a prophetic dream about the end of the Chosen King's life was entirely inspired by this beautiful [fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10833162) by [ivorydice](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/pseuds/ivorydice) that I highly recommend!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cor and Clarus reminiscence on the past, smiling at the good times and mourning the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a big thank you to [The_Asset6](http://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6) for being a saint and helping me with things! Some of the events in this chapter were also inspired by a bit of headcanoning we did awhile ago, so shout out to her for that too! <3 Also guys, if you haven't read any of her fics before, you're totally missing out!! Please go read them and leave her some love!

Cor was, uncharacteristically, at a loss. When he glanced over at Clarus to gauge his reaction, he could see the same sort of confused shock reflected in the man’s eyes.

 _“What the fuck?”_ He mouthed to the Shield, to which Clarus responded with a small shrug and a bewildered shake of his hand, before mouthing back, “ _No damn clue_.”

Disregarding the absurdity of the situation, the both of them looked back at the scene in front of them. Whatever either of them had expected when they and Regis had entered the king’s study, it hadn’t been to find a man who seemed to melt into the shadows around him. And when said man had turned to face them, a mirror replica of a younger King Regis if you looked past the dark, tired blue eyes, and the man claimed to be Prince Noctis--

Well now, Cor supposed the man would be more appropriately titled as king. One who wielded the power of the Old Kings and wore the Ring of the Lucii, one who fought with the grace of someone accustomed to battle. All traits that the version of Noctis that Cor, Clarus and Regis knew, the twenty-year-old fresh-faced prince, lacked.

And currently, King Regis and the apparent King Noctis were hugging and having a rather personal, intimate moment. Cor and Clarus shuffled awkwardly for a moment, struggling between their instincts to stay by their King’s side to guard him and the urge to allow the father and son some privacy. Ultimately, the latter desire won out, and the two men slipped out of the room quietly, careful not to disturb the royals as they closed the door behind them.

The Commander of the Crownsguard and the Amicitia Shield stood a few feet outside their King’s study, at a good enough distance that if they spoke softly their words wouldn’t reach any ears, both men silent as they thought over what they had just seen. The hallway was empty, and they could hear nothing from inside Regis’s study, the only noise being the sound of their breathing.

Finally, Clarus broke the quietness between them. “...He looks so much like Regis. How much time has passed for him, do you think?”

“It’s hard to say,” Cor murmured, a frown on his lips. “Since he was wearing the Ring, it’s possible that the magic has aged him prematurely, as it has for the King.”

“He stands so strongly, and has such a seriousness to his eyes. It’s… odd, to see him look so much older, so mature...”

“So much like Regis, and so different from the boy we know,” Clarus added, with a sigh.

Both Cor and Clarus had been there when Noctis had been born, remembered how quiet the little baby had been, big blue eyes curiously looking at everything around him. He had cooed so softly at his parents, and though his name came from the night, it was clear that Noctis was the light of his parents’s lives. The fondness and adoration that had shined so brightly in both the King and Queen’s gazes as they stared at their newborn son, and the love in their eyes as they looked to each other--in that moment, there was utter peace. Contentment, happiness, with no lingering worries of war or life-draining magic.

Cor remembered when he had held Noctis for the first time, uncharacteristically nervous as he stared down at the very, _very_ fragile being currently in his arms. He remembered how Aulea had giggled, albeit tiredly, at his hesitation and stiffness, her voice soft as she urged him to just relax. “ _He’s a baby, for Shiva's sake, just support his head properly and don't dare drop him if you value your life, Leonis_.”

Cor had held a baby before, as Clarus’s son had been born a few years prior, but it had been so long ago and it was different as he was currently holding the _Crown Prince of Lucis_ in his arms. The pride and joy of his King and Queen, and the baby--the prince was staring up at him in wonderment. Observing him carefully, as though trying to judge his intentions, when finally Noctis had graced the Marshal with a smile. It was such a sweet thing, Cor couldn't help but softly smile in return as he carefully rocked the baby a bit. (Aulea had smirked at seeing the rare look on Cor's face, while Regis and Clarus had outright laughed, to which Cor was quick to school his expression into something more neutral). But by the Six, he could understand the fondness that Regis and Aulea had when they gazed at the child, and also understood how Clarus felt when he looked at Gladiolus. Such a precious, small thing, a new life that had been created out of love. Cor had no children of his own, but he would care for those of his friends as though they were his own. That was his promise.

As he had stared down at the Crown Prince of Lucis, he vowed to protect him as he protected Regis and Aulea. Noctis was a source of happiness for the King and Queen, as well as the future heir to the throne, and one so precious that he would allow nothing to happen to him as long as he was able. More happiness was needed in the Citadel, what with Niflheim looming over them with war and daemons nipping at the edges of their beloved kingdom. What with magic draining the very life from his King, and with illness threatening to steal away the breath of his kind Queen. Cor, despite how much he wished to, could not protect Regis from everything, nor Aulea. But perhaps he could at least provide Noctis with a net of safety, and assist in giving him a happy childhood.

Clarus had felt similarly, as the sworn Amicitia Shield who would protect the King with his life. It was an honor, a sacred tradition in the Amicitia family and Clarus was proud of the role. When his turn came to hold Noctis, he had done so with more ease, having had experience with his son Gladiolus. And staring down at Noctis, he had mused over how this small child would grow into a prince one day, and then become king. This tiny baby with such innocent blue eyes would have to burden the weight of leading a kingdom, and of shouldering the Ring of the Lucii. This was the boy his son Gladio would be sworn to protect, as Clarus did Regis. He had wondered what kind of man Noctis would grow to be; would he be like Regis? Kind and wise, but mischievous and sarcastic? Would Gladio share a similar bond of friendship with Noctis as Clarus and Regis had? Clarus could only hope so, as the sworn Shield was a sacred role and the relationship between them was something that should come from a place of care and devotion.

Ah, but what a sweet baby Noctis had been. He had been quiet, barely a cry to escape him, seemingly content while being held by various people. Gladiolus had been much more active, and much louder as a baby, and still continued to be so as he had aged. Clarus had hoped the bond between them would indeed be something akin to friendship--brotherhood, for a King was nothing without his Crownsguard by his side. A man was nothing without people to support him and a King was no different, and the life of a Lucian King was one of little ease.  

As evidenced when but a few weeks after Noctis was born, Aulea had passed away from illness. Regis had been grief-stricken, consuming his time with matters of the kingdom to avoid the pain of having lost the girl he had loved since childhood. Aulea, bless her, had expressed her happiness at having been able to at least spend some time with Noctis and see Regis be a doting father before she had died. She had urged Regis to move forward, and to care for their son two-fold in her place, requesting that Clarus and Cor continue to watch over her son and stand by Regis’s side as they always had, for she would no longer be able to. It had been Noctis's cries that had broken Regis from his rigid, almost obsessive working schedule a few days after Aulea’s passing. Noctis, who had normally been a quiet, darling child, wailing with no end in sight after seeing no sign of his parents for days, reaching for someone who was there no longer. The nursemaids had been beside themselves, and even Clarus and Cor could do little to assuage the baby’s weeping for long, until finally they both had decided to bring the infant to the King. For who best to comfort the child then his father? If anyone could rip Regis away from the sorrow that had overtaken him, would it not be the child who shared his mother’s kind blue eyes?

At hearing his son’s cries, Regis had frozen at his desk for only a moment before abandoning his documents, standing and turning to look at his friends with bloodshot eyes. He had watched Noctis almost blankly as the baby fidgeted and whimpered in distress within Clarus’s arms, his tiny hands reaching outwards towards Regis. As if breaking out from a trance, the King had slowly blinked before finally taking the baby prince, staring in awe as Noctis calmed down after only a few seconds of being rocked in his father’s hold. Tears beginning to shine in his eyes, Regis had hugged his son even closer to his chest, pressing his lips to his child's temple and whispering, "I'm here, Noctis. I'm here."

They had been practically inseparable after that, Regis endeavoring to spend as much time with his dear son as possible. In the depths of the Citadel, in the peace of the days, it hadn’t been uncommon to hear the King murmuring in nonsensical babytalk to his son, cooing affections Noctis couldn't yet understand. Noctis’s laughter echoing throughout the halls became something of a permanent fixture, the sound never failing to lift the spirits of any who heard it. Even Cor the Immortal hadn’t been able to resist smiling down at the sweet boy, holding him gently and playing with him whenever he was stationed to watch over the young prince. Clarus had many pictures as evidence and had never let Cor live it down, much to the Marshal’s chagrin.

It hadn’t been rare to see the stoic Commander of the Crownsguard walking down the halls with the young baby prince either in his arms or held to his chest with a baby carrier. People used to gawk at first, but after a while, it had became so normal that no one batted an eye at the sight. That wasn’t to say that people hadn’t taken pictures or laughed in private--Monica and Clarus _still_ brandished pictures to tease Cor, and he knew that Regis had some saved as well. And they hadn’t keep their laughter secret, either, and while it had annoyed Cor, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to care too much. Not when he would look down to see sweet little Noctis blinking up at him with curious, big blue eyes. Not when the baby would grace him with the sweet chime of his giggles, usually when Cor would make faces at him or tickle him. It was having Noctis around that made the days back then brighter, even after Aulea’s unfortunate passing. The three of them had often spent free time together, taking care of Noctis and allowing the nursemaids a break. Plus, they all couldn’t help wanting to spend time with the darling boy whenever they were able, doting on the baby.

( _"When you're older, I'll teach you how to wield a katana. That'll be fun, won't it, Highness?" Noctis babbled happily, his small fingers gently prodding at Cor's cheek. Cor nodded, taking that as the baby's answer. "I knew you would agree with me."_

_“...You do realize he cannot fully understand you?” Regis asked with an arched brow, taking his son from Cor’s hands. Clarus moved closer to Regis and held out a finger to Noctis, smiling at the baby prince when Noct grabbed at his finger._

_“Of course, Majesty,” Cor said, just as Clarus softly chimed in with, “You’ll be the best little Niff killer around, Your Highness.”_

_“Clarus!” Regis looked positively scandalized, betrayed that his Shield would join in on the promoting of his son fighting and using weapons. Obviously, Noctis would learn to wield weapons one day, as all Lucian Kings were well-versed in weaponry, but… later. Much later. Noctis was only a baby, and to imagine his son anywhere near something pointy was too stressful and threatened to give Regis a heart attack._

_Cor bit back a laugh, while Clarus only shrugged innocently, taking Noctis from Regis and bouncing the giggling baby in his arms. “Look, he likes the idea! Don’t you, Your Highness? You’re going to be the best little warrior around--after my son, that is. Yes, you are!”_

_Noctis smiled, the infant gurgling in delight while Regis let out an exasperated sigh, idly wondering if he should endeavor to keep Noctis away from Clarus and Cor. Clarus continued to coo at the baby, and Cor couldn’t stop the amused smirk from curling along his lips as he watched the King’s Shield act so childishly with Noctis, while the King himself looked every bit a tired, but endlessly entertained father._ )

As Noctis grew from darling baby to energetic toddler, the fondness that all three men shared for the little prince only grew.

“Do you remember,” Cor started, a rare smile on his face, his voice quiet as he spoke, “When we kept teasing Regis by saying how we’d give Noctis weapons to train with when he was very young?”

“You mean when _you_ teased him?” Clarus corrected with a smirk, to which Cor only shrugged nonchalantly. “I do remember, yes. For example, the time where you mentioned wanting to teach Noctis how to wield a katana and disappeared with him. Regis nearly had a heart attack when he heard what you had “planned”. Understandably, considering how little experience you had with children back then. 

“I wasn’t _that_  bad,” Cor grumbled with a frown. The idea of showing Noctis how to wield a sword _had_ been incredibly tempting, but even Cor had the basic common sense to know that giving a toddler a sharp weapon could only lead to disaster. “I still remember Regis’s face when Noctis stumbled into the study with that toy sword as a toddler.”

“Ah, the slow transition from worry, to shock, to relief. Quite humorous indeed. Noctis even managed to hit you with the sword.”

“You looked really proud when he got that hit. Regis may not have seen you nodding in approval, but I definitely did.”

“Well now, I certainly couldn’t let His Majesty think that I approved of his young child showing a bit of promise as a warrior. He would never have let either of us hear the end of it.”

( _Regis let out a sigh as he watched his one-year-old son excitedly wave around the toy katana Cor had given him. Where on earth had the Marshal even found it? Did he purchase the toy in a store that catered to babies? On one hand, it was hilarious to imagine Cor the Immortal making his way into something like an Insomnia Infants store, but on the other, it somewhat worried Regis that_ toy katanas _might be an actual, marketed toy. Maybe he should consider a law about this_.

_Cor seemed entirely unperturbed, in fact appearing vaguely amused as Noctis continued to hit him in the shoulder with the fake blade over and over again, giggling all the while. The longer Regis watched, the more his vague feeling of foreboding grew as something glinted in Cor’s eyes as the man observed his son._

_And then, of course, Cor spoke. Quietly, almost as though he was in a daze. “...I wonder if he’ll be this energetic when he’s training? Sparring would be interesting…”_

_Regis fixed Cor with a look, his eyes wide. “Cor, he’s only_ one _.”_

_“Of course, Majesty, I meant in the future.” Cor didn’t even spare a glance at Regis, his gaze still on the excited toddler. “...Next time, we can try daggers.”_

_What._

_“What.” Regis’s expression shifted to one of horror as he worried for his son. Not that he ever thought either Cor or Clarus would willingly harm their prince, but Cor’s eagerness to spar with his baby son was a little disquieting. Maybe he should consider giving the Marshal a vacation?_

_“I wonder how far he could throw them. Early training for that might be beneficial…” Cor looked almost… starry eyed, and it sent a chill down Regis’s spine._

_“Cor, no.”_

_“Or maybe a two-handed sword?” Cor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Regis had the sudden urge to scream. From behind Regis, Clarus nodded in approval to that suggestion, though he quickly stopped and kept a blank expression when the king glanced back at him._

_Regis’s countenance soured, turning stern as he glared at Cor, looking and sounding every bit the King of Lucis. “Cor._ No _.”_

_The Marshal blinked at his monarch before exhaling softly, opting to lift Noctis up from the couch and seat the boy on his lap, bouncing him on a knee. “...When he’s older, of course.”_

_Clarus snorted at that, quickly disguising it with a cough as Regis let out a tired exhale of breath. All eyes turned back to the prince currently being discussed; Noctis was calmly chewing on the plastic sword without a care in the world and Clarus stepped forward to gently pull the toy away from the toddler’s mouth. The little prince pouted, his small hands waving around a few times before he raised one of his hands to idly suck on his thumb._

_“Oh, I bet my wife would want to see this,” Clarus said, slipping out his phone and taking a video of Noctis who was still cutely sucking his thumb. While Clarus claimed it was only for his wife, both Regis and Cor knew that the Shield just had a huge soft spot for children and couldn’t resist his fatherly instincts to film or document_ everything. _Granted, Regis was no better, and he was also sure no one could resist his son’s cuteness, even if Clarus would quietly claim that Gladio was cuter. Which was clearly untrue, and no, Regis was definitely_ not _biased._

_Regis moved to kneel in front of his son while Clarus moved to the side and continued to film a video, the king tickling the toddler’s chubby cheeks with a finger affectionately and smiling when Noctis giggled. Regis felt his chest warm at the grin on his darling boy’s face, an inexpressible fondness welling up within him. “Well, my son? Do you look forward to training when you’re older? Perhaps you’ll like the lessons with me, hm? Does that sound fun, Noct? Learning magic with Dad?”_

_“...Da…” Noctis mumbled while staring intently at Regis, and all three men froze in place._

_Regis swallowed, his words soft and encouraging as he nodded to his son. “Da…? Dad?”_

_“Da… Da--dada! Dada!” Noctis grinned, reaching his hands forward and patting Regis’s cheeks. Regis stared, shell-shocked for a moment._

_Clarus couldn’t stop smiling, still filming the scene and thanking the gods that he had decided to do so. “And there we have little Noctis’s first words--by the Six, Regis, are you crying?”_

_Regis glanced tearfully back at his Shield before looking back to Noctis, smiling brightly at his son despite the tears in his eyes. He took Noctis from Cor’s arms, hugging him close, his voice thick with emotion. “He said ‘Dada’! He called me ‘Dada’! That’s right, Noctis, ‘Dada’ is here. I’ll always be here, my son.”_ )

Cor sighed, thinking back to the older version of Noctis that had seemingly time traveled back from the future. Those innocent times from when Noctis was but a child were long gone. The times in which Cor or Clarus could be found reading a book to the little prince, Clarus doing voices for the characters and Cor giving humorous summaries based on what he knew of the tale. The times when Noctis was a toddler and his favorite words consisted of “No”, “Food”, “Unc’” for Uncle Cor and Clarus, and “Dada”. The times when little Noctis would never be found without a white cat plushie gifted to him by Regis. The times where Noctis would use said plushie to “kiss” whoever looked sad or even remotely troubled, usually Regis, Cor, or Clarus. The times where Noctis could still smile and laugh easily, and so could they. It all felt like a lifetime ago.

Seeing that version of an older Noctis, one so physically stressed that it marred his skin and turned strands of his hair gray, one with blue eyes so tired and somber that they looked impossibly old, one with shoulders so heavy it was a wonder he didn't collapse under the weight. One who was a strong but solemn king instead of a quiet but kind-hearted prince.

If Cor still lived in that future, it was undoubtedly with the knowledge that Noctis was another king that he couldn’t save. He had broken his vow to protect Noctis, and if the grief that the older Noctis had expressed earlier when seeing Regis was any indication, Cor had failed to protect his King as well. And if Regis had died, there was no way that Clarus Amicitia, as the king’s sworn Shield, as his brother-in-arms, as his _friend_ , would have let his King pass without him.

When Cor glanced to Clarus and saw the sad look in his eyes, the light of tragic realization, he knew that the Shield had come to a similar conclusion. They both wore solemn expressions, wondering about a cruel future and a boy turned king before he was even ready for the throne. They thought of the sweet baby they had helped care for, one who had brought joy and laughter into the bleak expanse of the Citadel. They thought of the bright little boy they had watched grow into withdrawn teen years and into stressed young adulthood. They thought of the boy who had suffered so much at such a young age, trauma that robbed him of the innocence and glee he had once seemed to emanate. They thought of the fate of the Chosen King that Regis had disclosed to them when the title had been given to Noctis at the tender age of five, and they _mourned_.

They mourned Noctis: the darling baby, the compassionate and shy prince, the exhausted and mature king. They mourned the boy they had known and watched grow, and mourned the brave, selfless man he had seemingly grown into in their absence. And they mourned their King, their friend, Regis, who only had ever wanted for his son to be happy. Regis, who had done his damndest to be the best king and father he could be, despite the way circumstance seemed to work against him. Noctis, who had a life doomed by a tragic destiny, fated to be cut short and tinged with the loneliness of a royal.

“...He grew well. A king to be proud of,” Clarus said softly, a small smile on his face despite the melancholy that colored his words.

“Agreed. A king to be remembered, just like Regis.” And one to be grieved, but Cor didn’t voice that thought. Instead, Cor chuckled a bit as he recalled the earlier fight. “...He also grew as a fighter, blocking my attacks so easily.”

“That was very impressive, yes. I bet he could’ve kicked your ass.”

“Don’t push it.”

The men shared a quiet laugh then, a brief reprieve from the sorrow swirling in their hearts. A soft _click_ of a door opening had them looking towards the study to see Regis, his eyes suspiciously red. He beckoned them inside with a nod of his head, closing the door behind them. The large curtains that covered the largest window in the room had been pulled aside so light streamed into the room. Noctis sat in the desk chair, the chair turned around to face the couch’s direction and pulled closer so he was only an arm's length away. They noted how his blue eyes were intently trained on the view outside the window and on the sunlight as though he hadn’t seen either in years.

At hearing Cor and Clarus come in though, he turned to face them with a small smile, something about it strained. It made the newfound wrinkles crease further around the skin of Noct’s red-rimmed eyes, and they were once again struck by how _old_ Noctis seemed. It was unsettling. They had been there when he was _born_ , and the last time they had seen Noct, he had still been a youthful twenty-year-old. This man before them felt almost like a stranger.

Regis sat on the couch, waving a hand towards the empty space. “Feel free to sit, my friends. I think we should all be here to listen to… the full tale my son wishes to tell us.”

Noctis nodded to them, his voice hoarse but still carrying strength. “It’s... a long story. You should probably sit down for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning interaction between Clarus and Cor was totally inspired by something [Jthart](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jthart/pseuds/jthart) had mentioned to me that I found too funny to pass up LOL
> 
> And the bit about Cor telling story summaries was entirely inspired by the amazing fic [Crownsguarded](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11444658/chapters/25649493) by [roguehearted](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roguehearted/pseuds/roguehearted), which you definitely should read if you haven't already! It's super adorable and if you love Cor, you'll love him even more in this fic! 
> 
> I also wanted to apologize for how late this update was ;; IgNoct Week happened, and I also started work, plus other things kept coming up that kept me from finishing this update until this week! But here it is, and I hope you enjoy it! Noctis Appreciation Week is also coming up, and I adore my boy, so while I'll try to update again next Friday, it might be in two weeks or so. Idk if I should just have like, posts on tumblr for writing updates or a twitter for it lmao.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take this long chapter from my hands after I've worked on it _forever_.
> 
> Thank you to [EratosChild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eratoschild) for helping me look over this monster of a chapter! <3

“When I was twenty, Niflheim approached us with talks of peace. They offered a treaty between our kingdoms, and to solidify the deal, I was meant to marry Luna. So you--” Noctis nodded to Regis-- “Sent me off on a trip to Altissia with my Crownsguard: Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto.”

“In the Regalia?” Regis asked, having already been considering leaving the beloved car to the Noctis he knew, with the intention of Noctis keeping a part of Regis with him on his journey. The car was special to the both of them, and for similar reasons though they had never stated them aloud.

Noctis’s expression twisted into something both melancholic and nostalgic. His gaze flickered to the window, to the bright sunlight illuminating the room, then back to his father’s kind eyes. “...Yeah. It got us everywhere. We went far with it, and it lasted us until... the end.”

“And what happened after you departed from the Crown City?” Clarus questioned, already able to guess the events that took place in regards to Insomnia.

“The car broke down near Hammerhead, so we ended up going there and meeting Cid Sophiar and his granddaughter, Cindy.” Noctis looked at his dad with a wry smile. “Cid knew right away I was your son, though he wasn't very impressed with me. I think he said something like… I was like you, but with the dignity kicked out.”

Regis let out an amused huff of breath, shaking his head. “That… does seem like something he would say, yes.”

“He warmed up to me eventually, though. Cid always did look a bit sad seeing me, especially after…” Noctis trailed off with a frown. “...I think I reminded him of you. If… If you have the time, you should see him again.”  

“Highness, I’m not sure that’s a good idea…” Clarus frowned, looking conflicted, but Noctis was unperturbed by his doubt.

“Cid mentioned how he couldn’t even remember the last time he had seen you. I still remember how… _sad_  he had looked, how tired he had sounded. He told me once, after you… you were gone... he told me that I had to realize how much I meant to my friends, my brothers, even as a prince.” Noctis gave Regis a pointed look, to which the monarch let out a soft sigh, his gaze going downcast.

It had been years since Noctis had seen Cid (and the same could be said for Regis, now that Noct thought about it), but he could still clearly remember the grief in Cid’s eyes, the regret in his voice when he spoke of an old friend forever lost to him. When Noctis had been a child, he had loved when his father would get him ready for bed and regale him with tales of his adventures. Traveling the world with his closest companions, experiencing new things and meeting all kinds of people--Noctis’s own adventure later in life mirrored the ones he had adored from Regis’s stories, so he understood the importance of the people that travelled alongside you on your journey. As Cid had said, Noct’s friends weren’t just his bodyguards, they were his brothers. Noctis knew that the same sentiment had to be shared between Regis and all the friends he had journeyed with when he was younger; despite whatever drove Cid and Regis apart in the first place, they obviously still cared about one another.

Which was why Noct was so adamant that they at _least_  spoke properly to one another again, though he would prefer that they met up in person. Just… one more time, before they couldn’t any longer, before all they had were regrets that constantly lingered in their minds. They deserved better than that.

“At least, just… I don’t know. Leave him a message? A video? He and Cor will meet up later, so it could be on Cor’s phone. Hm…” Noctis glanced down, suddenly remembering his own phone. Pulling it out, he curiously clicked it on, blinking when it flashed to life. “You could try leaving something on mine, too. I--well, I won’t be needing it for much longer. If the messages and whatnot remain when… when I go back, it might help them out with… dealing with things.”

The vague reference to Noct’s time running out made the mood of the room drop, even the temperature seeming just a touch colder. Ignoring the strained atmosphere, Noct unlocked his phone, thumbing through the apps to see if everything still worked. He found himself going to his old voicemails on instinct, having done so countless times before he went into the Crystal, his thumb hovering over one of the old voicemails from Regis. Noctis practically had the voicemails he had saved from his father memorized after listening to them so often, knowing exactly what was said in which one depending on the time stamp. He almost pressed on one again out of force of habit, catching himself just in time, his eyes turning wide. Staring down at his phone, at the voicemails he had often gone to for comfort, for a moment he lost himself.

For a moment, he was twenty years old again, sitting alone with nothing but anxiety digging its way through his chest to keep him company, his thoughts a whirlwind of _what-ifs_ and _hows_ and _why did this happen, why wasn’t I there, why was everything gone_. He was only twenty years old, not a boy anymore but not yet a man, and he wanted to hear his father’s voice again. He wanted his dad to be _alive_ , gods damn it all, he wanted everything to go back to normal. But all he had left of his father were old voicemails, his sole medium to hear Regis’s voice again and it _hurt_ , it _ac_ _hed_ , because his father was--

“...Noct?” _Alive._ Noctis blinked away the thoughts that had momentarily taken him, remembering his current situation. He looked up at the sound of his father’s voice, crystal clear and unmistakable, as compared to a muddled old recording from a phone, as compared to recordings that still sounded so real they almost made Noctis believe that nothing had changed.

Regis was staring at him with such concern in his eyes that it made Noct’s heart clench because _gods_ , he had missed his dad more than he could ever express. To see him once more in person, alive and well, and to speak to him again, to have the chance to truly make his peace with his father before Noctis would carry out his destiny for the world--it all was something he had only ever dreamed of. He still was having a hard time believing that it all was actually happening, that he _wasn’t_  dreaming somehow. How else would thirty-year-old Noctis, the King of Light who had absorbed the power of the Crystal and knew everything about his fate, be sitting in his home that hadn’t fallen to ruin yet, and be sitting with his father who had been dead for a decade?

...Had it really been so long? Had it really been so long since Noctis had been inside the Citadel, the place he had grown up in? His _home_ , one that was destroyed while he had been peacefully adventuring with his friends? His friends, who had lost their homes and family members just as he had, just as countless others who once lived in Insomnia had. Had it really been so long since Noctis had seen the Crown City, since he had seen sunlight?

Had it really been so long since he had seen or spoken to his dad?

Clearing his throat against the sudden lump he could feel, Noctis tried to speak. “Sorry. ...I just… lost myself for a second.”

“My son, if you need… time, perhaps, in order to gather your thoughts, we understand,” Regis murmured, his hazel eyes shining with a mix of concern and understanding.

“...There is never enough time,” Noctis said quietly, bitterly, a smile laced with tragedy on his face.

Regis looked impossibly sorrowful at Noct’s words, and he immediately felt regret at having voiced them, suddenly feeling once again like a foolish twenty-year-old prince. Though instead of the naive prince who had started his journey with hope, he felt more like the broken boy who had been beaten down by reality, who had drowned in grief and anger, who had been lost somewhere within the Crystal and replaced by an even more broken man.

Cor spoke up then, his expression still his usual default stoicness but his voice was soft, calming. “Then you have to make the most of the time you have… Majesty.”

“...Yeah. I’m… trying, but there isn’t much time left,” Noct admitted, struggling to express his feelings but making eye contact with each of the men, one-by-one. “For what it’s worth, though, seeing you all again... it’s time well spent.”

Regis managed a kind smile, one that soothed the festering mess of anxiety and melancholy that had started welling up anew within Noctis, a smile that had never failed to make Noctis feel safe and reassured. As a child, Noctis could remember looking to his father whenever he had felt nervous or overwhelmed, and his father’s smile had always made him feel better. It was the same smile that was rarely seen in public unless Regis was with Noctis, one that was fond and adoring and only for his son, a soft expression that Noct could often be found unconsciously mirroring back.

Noct could remember seeing pictures of that same smile on the front page of various newspapers and magazines such as The Insomnia Times or E!Insomnia, with headlines such as, “The King of Lucis shares a sweet moment with his son!” and “Is the relationship between King Regis and His Highness as close as it seems? An inside source has the scoop!” The headlines tended to lean towards being ridiculous, but a part of Noctis always appreciated that the press managed to sometimes capture such candid photos of himself and his father, when most pictures with the two of them were all planned and professional. (Excluding the very view selfies they had together, or the pictures that Prompto had secretly snapped).

Clarus nodded in acknowledgement to Noct’s kind words, a small smile playing along his lips, one that reminded Noctis of times when that same smile would appear after he would do something mischievous as a child and the King’s Shield would struggle not to laugh. It also reminded Noct of the soft look Clarus would get in his eyes when he looked at his children, something both proud and fond. Clarus, who was a pillar of strength, the proud Shield to the King of Lucis, and who was an unbelievably caring man under his strict exterior. The fearsome Shield who had often sat together with Noctis in the quiet of the King’s study, doodling little pictures with crayons alongside the boy or playing board games together while Regis worked at his desk, the King often glancing back to watch his son and his dear friend interacting with a smile on his face.

Cor had a gentle look in his eyes, his entire expression having softened at Noct’s confession,  uncharacteristic for Cor the Immortal unless one was close to the man. The Marshal was normally a stoic man, always seeming very straight-laced with a sort of no-nonsense attitude. And yet, Noctis could recall times when Cor’s stern countenance had softened into something near adoring, sometimes amused, like when Noctis was a child and he would excitedly hang onto Cor’s arm as the man easily raised his arm and flexed. He remembered the small smile Cor had had on his face as he played with the little prince, the boy’s gleeful laughter managing to break through even the feared Immortal’s normal stoniness. The very same man who had often taken Noctis to Regis when he was a child, carrying the little prince down the halls of the Citadel and listening to Noct’s babbling with no complaints, even talking to him and lifting his spirits whenever Noctis had been down or lonely.

Things had changed as Noctis had aged, and the easy closeness of childhood shifted to something more mature and distant, but that care and affection still remained beneath the reservedness of propriety and age.

His thoughts brought a smile to his lips, and Noctis felt calm once more, his gaze falling back to his phone that lay clutched between his fingers, the device having turned off during his inactivity. Remembering his original intent in taking it out, Noctis clicked it back on, gazing at the list of voicemails that greeted him. Feeling three pairs of eyes on him, he showed them the screen, letting them see the voicemails that had originally shaken him. Noting the confusion in their eyes, he softly explained, “...I used to listen to these so often, back then. After the Fall, they… were all I had left. I had gone back to them without thinking about it, and it just… threw me off a little.”

Even without Noctis explicitly explaining it, he knew the three men would come to the same conclusion regarding the voicemails. It was difficult not to after he had mentioned the Fall of Insomnia, and each voicemail was from the same person: “Dad”.

“Noctis…” Regis started, but stopped, at a loss for words in the face of his son’s sorrow. Sorrow that Noctis felt over _Regis_ ’ _s_  passing, and the knowledge still hurt Regis even if Noct’s feelings were perfectly understandable. The king couldn’t very well tell his son everything would be alright, when all in the room knew how completely _not_ okay the future would be, this version of his son most of all.

“It’s alright, I’m fine.” Noctis managed a smile, trying to reassure his dad. “I just… I never thought I’d be able to hear your voice again. It was one of the first things I had realized along with how I’d… never see you again. Pictures aren’t exactly the same thing, but they’re better than nothing. It’s why I was glad to at least have most of your voicemails saved. It… helped a lot, sometimes, to still hear your voice.”

Regis looked about two seconds away from going to Noctis and hugging him again, and while Noctis would appreciate and welcome it--vague embarrassment be damned--there was a part of him that still wanted to portray the image of the King of Light. A man fueled by strength and resolve, a worthy king that all three men could respect and be proud of, someone more mature than the young prince they had all known. Being comforted by his father, while something precious he had both craved and missed, also had the side-effect of making him feel like a child again. And a child couldn’t be king, nor could they do what was necessary for the prophecy. At least, a child most likely wouldn’t be able to accept the price, one so daunting and _final_. Perhaps that was why it had taken Noctis so long to accept his fate, because he still had had some maturing left to do when he had initially gone into the Crystal.

“If you don’t think you can go and visit him, I think it’d be worth it to at least try and leave messages for Cid. For everyone, really.” Noctis handed his phone to Regis, turning his gaze to Clarus. “I’m sure Gladio and Iris would appreciate anything, if you want to leave something for them too. Though they’re both doing well, and from what I hear, Iris is a famous daemon slayer.”

“Is that so?” Clarus nodded approvingly, looking proud to hear his daughter had made a name for herself, though his eyes also seemed a little misty. “...I’m sure she has grown into a fine young woman. Can I ask... how old she is in your time?”  
  
“Oh, if it's been ten years... she'd be twenty-five now.” Noctis explained, the reality of his situation still hard for even him to wrap his head around, because _ten years_? He had missed not only a decade of his own life, but of the lives of his friends, and to suddenly find himself so much older was still incredibly disorienting. Noctis noticed that he had unconsciously avoided catching sight of his reflection after the initial realization, sometimes uncomfortable with his new appearance.

“... _If_ it has been?” Cor arched a brow at Noct, bringing attention to his odd choice of words.  
  
Noctis blanched as three pairs of searching eyes were set on him, finding himself once again at a loss for words. He had already struggled to reveal the truth of his destiny to his friends, and now to have to explain the reality of his life to not only his father, but to the two men who were essentially like uncles to him? Would he be forced to watch their expressions fall, watch sorrow push tears into their eyes? Would he have to see all of that, and know he was the cause of all that pain?  
  
It never got any easier.  
  
"I... a lot has happened. I was only freed from the Crystal recently." Noctis rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, feeling slightly uncomfortable when reminded of the Crystal. It hadn’t exactly been a pleasant experience.  
  
" _Freed_?" Regis seemed bewildered by Noct's word choice. “From the Crystal? What exactly do you mean, my son?”

It was Noctis’s turn to be surprised. Noctis had assumed that Regis had not only known what his son’s destiny would entail at the end, but that he had also been privy to the finer details involved in the fate of the Chosen King. “Didn’t you…? How much do you know about the Chosen King’s fate?”

“...Enough to know that I never wished for such tragedy and burden to be placed upon your shoulders,” Regis said solemnly, and Noctis hated to see his father look so… _hopeless_. So heartbroken, and know it was all his fault.

Regis cleared his throat, continuing, “I am aware of what being Chosen entails, and how… how you are meant to purge our star of the scourge. There exists a version of the prophecy only passed down between the Lucian Kings and anyone else deemed worthy that speaks of what is required of the True King, and the Draconian saw fit to tell me of the true meaning of the sacrifice as well.”

Gazing at his father, taking in the look in his eyes and hearing the somberness in his voice, Noctis was reminded of that day so long ago on the steps of the Citadel. There was no deceit to his dad’s words, just as there hadn’t been during their farewell all those years back, and Regis’s eyes stared unflinchingly into his own, hiding nothing, just as in the past. And yet, knowing everything that Noctis knew now, the details of his fate and the knowledge that Regis had been aware all along of what would happen once Noctis left the Crown City, Noct could sense the way that Regis was hiding something from him again. Similar to their final goodbye, his hazel eyes spoke of a tragic secret he had no wish to share, his voice laced with an undercurrent of melancholy that went deeper than what was supposed to be a temporary farewell.

“... _Once you set forth, you cannot turn back. I need only know that you are ready to leave home behind._ ” And _gods_ , he hadn’t been ready. He hadn't _known_ just how final Regis’s words were, he hadn't realized the hard truth to them. Noctis really couldn't turn back, nor could he return home. He _had_ no home to return to, not after Niflheim destroyed everything. There had been no turning back, despite how much he had craved to return, to see his home again, to see his _father_.

Noctis could still remember the thought that had circulated in his mind when he had first heard the news about the Fall of Insomnia: _It couldn't be true_.

It hadn't even been that long since he had left the Crown City, how could his home be gone? Maybe it was all a fluke, maybe his dad was fine somehow, maybe everything was still _normal_. He prayed to all the gods, wished so desperately for his home to still be standing and his father to be alive and well.

But then Cor had called and confirmed everything, destroying Noct’s world in the process.

He hadn't been ready, not at all.

The Crown Prince of Lucis turned King overnight, to a kingdom in shambles while he was miles away. His father gone from the world without a proper last goodbye, with no chance to see him again and to say all the things he hadn’t said before.  _Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry_.

The last words his father had spoken to him still haunted him to this day, and part of him still wondered how Regis had continued to look so calm, so regal and normal, despite knowing that that moment on the steps to the Citadel would be the last time they ever saw one another. Truly a strong monarch to the end, all kingly grace in the face of an impending doom.

…Would he be able to do the same, when fate eventually called upon him to part ways from his dearest friends, his family? Would he leave them with the image of a king, would they be proud of the man their prince had grown to be? Noctis wondered if his friends had found it odd, if they had felt as though the man who had returned from the Crystal was a stranger, someone that they once knew but could no longer recognize. Where had the young prince gone, the one who napped at every opportunity, who adored fishing, who had the biggest soft spot for animals? Where had that awkward young man gone, the one who wanted so desperately to make those around him proud and help his people but struggled to carry the phantom crown that weighed so heavily upon his head?

It had only taken him ten whole years to grow up. No, perhaps he had started sooner, when he first experienced death and destruction at the hands of a daemon. It would be more accurate to say that it had taken him ten years to lose himself in the mantle of the Chosen King. Past being the destined boy, prince, king, man who would die to save the world, there was no room to be only Noct.

He looked to his father again, feeling almost like a child though he was far from being one. The sadness in Regis’s kind eyes, the somber twist to his lips, the wrinkles and lines etched into his skin from the strain of protecting a kingdom through magic. Noctis thought of how despite being a king, Regis was still always his father, even if they didn’t always have time for one another. For now, in this brief moment in the past before the ruin of the future, maybe Noctis would allow himself to be just Noct, for a little bit longer.

If Regis was so insistent on keeping whatever seemingly sad secret it may be to himself, even knowing that the version of Noctis he was speaking to already knew of his fated tragedy, then perhaps he was better off not knowing. What more, after all, could Regis know that Noctis already didn’t? Either way, the end that awaited Noctis was nothing short of a tragedy, the only happiness being in what his death would bring about. All he could do was hope that everyone he cared for in the future would still be alive to see the Dawn again. All he could do was hope for their safety, for _their_  happiness, for what matters the happiness of a dead King, one who never ruled?

While curious as to whatever Regis may be keeping from him, Noctis found himself appreciating Regis’s desire to protect him from it, despite seeing the man his son had been forced to grow into. Truly, it seemed the mask of the Chosen King could only comfortably fall in front of his father. Regis, who only looked at Noctis as his son, who only saw his dear boy beneath the title of the King of Light.

“....Many sacrificed all for the King, so must the King sacrifice himself for all,” Noctis murmured, the words spoken flatly, the phrase etched into his mind like a permanent brand. “That was what the Draconian told me when I entered the Crystal, but you already knew about that part of the prophecy.”

Regis looked stricken when Noctis uttered the phrase, but he soon nodded, his eyes once again filled with the seemingly ever-present grief that Noct was easily able to notice now, especially as a look he was certain was mirrored in his own gaze. The monarch swallowed, speaking hoarsely as though it pained him, “...While I didn’t know those exact words, I did know what the Chosen would have to do in the end, yes. However, the prophecy gave very little detail regarding how exactly it was all meant to play out besides the end result.”

Noctis couldn’t say he was surprised; he supposed the “ten years within the Crystal to absorb its power” part of his fate wasn’t exactly vital information for the Lucian kings to know. The prophecy only made being the supposed savior sound like a great honor, like that man would be one to be remembered. It spoke nothing of the tragedy that would follow the Chosen, nor spoke of the sacrifice that would be demanded of him.

His gaze fell to the Ring of the Lucii sitting on his finger, the ring glinting inconspicuously in the light streaming in from the window as though it were a normal piece of jewelry. A simple family heirloom, if you ignored the powerful magic imbued within the small ring, magic so powerful that the ring was coveted by those with malicious intent. A little piece of metal that brought ruin to those who donned it, worthy or unworthy, Lucis Caelum or not.

The power it held and the cost of using it wasn’t something he wished on anyone. He knew it was the blood in his veins that allowed him to use the ring with little consequence as compared to anyone else who would have an even greater price to pay.

“The ring…” Noctis spoke up finally, almost hesitantly. “When I finally got the Ring of the Lucii back after… everything that happened, our next move was to take the Crystal back, which had been stolen in the Fall of Insomnia. Imagine my surprise when I’m slowly absorbed into it when I get close enough.”

“Absorbed…” Clarus murmured, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make sense of what Noctis was telling them.

“It didn’t hurt, but I… couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t escape or at least slow it down so I could’ve--” Noctis broke off, closing his eyes for a moment. A comforting hand on his shoulder had him opening his eyes again, meeting Regis’s soft gaze. Taking a deep breath, Noctis continued softly, “...I couldn’t even tell the guys. We separated so they could fight off enemies while I went to the Crystal. We all thought it would fix everything, but instead I disappeared into it before I could even warn them. ...I was supposed to come right back to them.”

Noct could still clearly remember it all despite the apparent time that had passed. His grief, his bone-deep exhaustion, his fragile hope as he approached the Crystal and pleaded for its aid. The nauseating mixture of shock and fear as he was trapped by the Crystal, the fury that raced through his veins as Ardyn appeared and explained things with a smug smile because the man had gotten _exactly_  what he wanted.

A _Lucis Caelum_. To think, that man was his _ancestor_ , someone who could have potentially been a king of their great kingdom. A kingdom that very same man had a hand in burning to the ground.  

Perhaps it really was true that only tragedy followed the Lucis Caelum bloodline, if history and prophecies were anything to go by.

“Did I…” Regis started, then stopped for a moment, as though considering if he really wanted to voice his question. Seeming to make up his mind, he continued, his voice shaky. “...So you were unaware of what was to happen when you approached the Crystal?”

With a tired sigh, Noct admitted, “...No, we didn’t know about any of it. We all just thought the Crystal could somehow help us deal with the growing number of daemons. Everything… it all fell apart. We didn’t know.”

“And you knew nothing of the true prophecy until you met with the Draconian, correct?” Clarus questioned, his eyes flickering over to Regis whose expression had gone blank.

“...Right. He wasn’t really much company in the Crystal, though.” Noctis tried to joke, but thinking of the Crystal always sobered him, and those feelings carried into his tone. “He told me of the prophecy and what I had to do, but he didn’t actually mention how long it would take to absorb the power into the ring. ...I didn’t know how much time had passed.”

One of his hands reached up, fingers brushing against the hair on his chin. When Noct glanced towards the window, he could see the vaguest hint of his reflection in the glass through the glare of the sun, and even still he could note the bags under his eyes and the wrinkles that hadn’t been there ten years ago. Vividly, he recalled the image of the man he had seen for the first time in the mirror of Talcott’s truck. A weary, broken man who looked too much like his father and who was uncannily ready to die for the world. Any of the grievous rage he had felt at age twenty had simmered down into a mixture of somber understanding and resolve, leaving him only with a goal and a hope for a better future he would never see. No longer did he hope for the freedom he had craved in his teen years, nor did he irrationally hope for those he had lost to be returned to him. His success to secure a better tomorrow, his hope for a better life for the people he would be forced to leave behind--that was all that remained of Noctis Lucis Caelum. All that remained of the King of Light, for what place did Noct have in the world? There was no place for the unordained king without a kingdom, nor did the world need the boy who loved so earnestly and hurt so deeply.

There was no need for the boy who loved the stars, fishing, animals, and his friends, for the boy who was too weak to save the world.

“Ten years… is a long time when you think about it. But it isn't long at all inside the Crystal, and yet it’s also an eternity. It’s difficult to explain,” Noctis said, his gaze unfocused as he lost himself in thoughts about his ordeal in the confines of the Crystal. “...Everything was different when I woke up again. The world, my friends, and even myself. It was hard to believe how much time had passed.”

“You spent ten _years_ inside the Crystal?” Cor questioned, incredulous.

A chuckle escaped Noct, though it contained little mirth. “Unbelievable, right? I thought I was still dreaming when I woke up again. ...I barely recognized the world. Always dark and daemons everywhere, like something out of a bad apocalypse movie!” The light tone Noctis was trying for fell flat, putting more emotion into his words than he had intended. “…My friends grew older without me, and I didn’t even recognize myself when I finally looked into a mirror; isn’t that funny?”

It wasn’t funny, but the words expressing his true emotions kept spilling from his lips before he could stop them and all he could think to do was try to make light of the situation. It wasn’t his intention to make his father, Clarus, and Cor worry about him, he couldn’t be _weak_. Not again. Noct had promised himself he would be a strong king, one everyone could be proud of, one that wouldn’t disappoint them.

No matter how much Noctis thought about it, he didn’t think he would ever easily be able to comprehend how he had lost an entire decade of his life, returning to a completely different world as a changed man. He still would wake up sometimes and think he was still twenty, still in that better world on a journey with his friends, still optimistic and their hearts fresh with hope for regaining their home. Noct supposed it didn’t matter whether or not he would ever get the chance to be comfortable with the face he saw looking back at him in the mirror; what did it matter that he sometimes didn’t recognize himself? What did it matter that he sometimes felt like a stranger in his own skin, when he didn’t have long to live anyway?

“...It doesn’t really matter, though.” Noct’s hand fell from his chin, turning his gaze to the floor. He murmured his next words, quietly as though he hadn’t meant to voice them. “I’ll be gone soon, anyway.”

“Noct…” Regis sounded pained, looking conflicted as he searched for something to say to soothe his son somehow.

Noctis smiled, a shoddy imitation of a real one. “It’s alright. I’m fine, honestly. I’ve made my peace.”

“ _No_.” The harsh way that Regis suddenly spat out the word startled Noct into silence, leaving him staring wide-eyed at his father, Clarus and Cor doing the same. The king’s voice softened, quiet and choked with unshed tears. “No, it isn’t alright, Noctis. _Nothing_ , nothing about this is alright.”

“Dad…” Noctis was the one struggling for words now, feeling for a moment like a lost child.

“He’s right, Noctis.” Clarus looked rueful, his eyes flickering towards the monarch and back to Noctis. “Your bravery in the face of such a fate is admirable, but…”

“...You don’t _have_  to be fine, Your Highness,” Cor murmured, the old title instinctually falling from his lips. It somehow managed to bring Noct a modicum of comfort, the familiarity to it making Noct’s chest ache.

_I do, though_ , Noctis wanted to argue, _How else am I supposed to stay strong? How else am I supposed to fulfill my role as the Chosen King? I made my peace because I_ **_had_ ** _to; what else could I possibly do?_

He never had a choice in the matter.

“I…” Noctis frowned, searching for a way to reassure them all. This wasn’t how he had wanted to explain things; he was supposed to be _better_  than this, gods damn it all. “...I’ve had a long time to come to terms with what I have to do. Sorry, didn’t mean to… ramble like that.”

“My son, you have nothing to apologize for. As it stands...” Regis looked down, seeming to gather his thoughts for a moment before he looked back up at Noct with a grim expression. “It is _I_ that must ask for _your_ forgiveness.”

Noctis found himself baffled by his father’s sudden admission, immediately protesting against the statement. “What? There’s nothing you have to apologize for, why would you--?”

“Noct. I have many regrets, and countless of them are tied to you.”

The words sent a chill down Noct’s spine, something about hearing his father mention regrets related to him making his mind whisper age-old anxieties that had never truly disappeared. Things like Regis thinking, “ _I regret you weren’t a better prince”_ or “ _I regret that you weren’t a better son_ ”, because Noctis _knew_  he could have been better. If he was smarter, stronger, more skilled, perhaps he could have been a prince their kingdom would have been proud of. Perhaps they would still _have_  a kingdom left standing, perhaps he could have saved their people, saved his _f_ _ather_. He knew, of course, that much of what had happened was out of his control, but gods, a part of him couldn't help but imagine a life where so-called prophecies didn't call for so much loss and destruction. Was it so bad of him to wish for a timeline where not only their kingdom still stood and flourished, but that his father yet lived?

There were times, dark and rare, where Noctis sometimes even wondered about Regis’s love for him. He didn’t doubt his father, per say, would never doubt the love that Regis tried often to convey as best he could. But there existed moments in which Noctis would find himself wondering more so if he was _worthy_ of such affection and fondness.

“...I regret that my position often forced me to not spend as much time with you as I would have liked. I have missed a great many things in your life, all because of my role as king. You deserved better, my son,” Regis murmured, and Noctis found himself floored by the words he had never imagined his dad would say to him. “I wished so desperately when you were born that I would be a better father than mine was. I wanted to be there for you, despite my being the king. I wanted to give you a life of peace, but it seems I failed on all accounts.”

“Dad, no, please. You were-- _are_ a great dad, and I was lucky to have you. I understood how important being king was, it wasn’t.... I _understood_. And…” Noctis lowered his gaze, his lips twisting into a frown. “...There was nothing that could have been done about Niflheim. There was more going in the Empire than anyone could have handled properly, a plan that had been in the making for centuries.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t negate the fact that I was powerless to stop them.” Regis let out a soft scoff at the mention of Niflheim before a sad smile appeared on his face. “Lucky am I to have such a great son, one so forgiving and kind. ...Yet, in the end, I was unable to be honest with you, my son. And  _that_ , is seemingly one last regret I would have taken with me to the grave had you not appeared here.”

“What do you mean?” Noctis questioned, unable to figure out what his father could be referring to.

“...It seems I never _do_ truly gather up the courage to disclose the details of the fate of the Chosen King to you. I let you leave while you were completely unaware of what the future would hold. I selfishly kept that information for you, and you had to find out at the last possible moment. For that, Noct, I apologize. You deserved to know the truth, but I was too much of a coward to tell you.”

A coward? That was a word Noctis would have never associated with his father. King Regis was regal, compassionate, strong, brave--everything a king was meant to be. Regis was someone Noctis had always looked up, ever since he was a child. He knew his father wasn’t perfect, as no one was, but it still was hard for him to imagine Regis being afraid. However, considering the content of the details Regis had been loathe to disclose to him, Noctis thought he understood that fear perfectly now, after everything he had learned.

Once upon a time, Noctis hadn’t understood. He had been confused, furious, _grieving_ for all that had been loved and lost. Was that the way of the great king, the father he had so admired? To sacrifice Lucian lives to spare his only son? To leave his son behind with nothing to his name but a weighty title and a ruined kingdom? He hadn’t been able to understand how Regis had just seen Noctis off with a smile despite the impending doom on the horizon--hadn't understood _why_  Regis had refrained from disclosing anything to him.

How was it that a king was so easily able to send away the prince, doing so at the expense of their people, the kingdom they were sworn to protect, of the  _king_ ’s own life?

_“Was that his calling? Forsake the masses to spare his own son?_ ”

How was it that a father sent away a son without a proper goodbye, despite knowing that he would never see his son again? How was it that a father could look his son in the eyes and bid him farewell with a smile, leaving his son in a state of blissful ignorance in the face of a greater, but tragic destiny? How was it that a father could allow his son to depart from their home while frustrated, thus taking away from what should have been a heartfelt goodbye?

It was something that Noctis had always regretted after hearing about the Fall of Insomnia, after getting the phone call that confirmed the news he had always dreaded receiving: _his father was dead_. Noctis had been _angry_  during that last moment on the steps of the Citadel, hating the fact that they had been conceding* to Niflheim’s terms, that his father had _agreed_  to them without a fight. Frustrated that his father was essentially giving up in the battle against the Empire, and further annoyed that Regis had forced Noctis to leave the kingdom instead of remain by his side during the treaty signing. Those feelings had colored his last conversation with Regis, warping it into something snappy on Noct’s end, his sass tinged with hints of bitterness that took away from what should have been a warm moment between them.

...Noct’s folly was thinking they had more time together, that he would return home to his father after a brief journey, that he would bring promises of peace to their home. He thought they had more _time_ , he thought he would see his father again, he--he _never_  anticipated that moment on the steps would be their last and it _tore him apart_ _inside every time he remembered it_ \--

If he had known that would be their final conversation, he never would have allowed that vague annoyance to show, he would have been more _sincere_ with his goodbye. He would have spoken the words he had always regretted not telling his father one last time: _Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry_.

But Regis had known the entire time that they wouldn't have another chance to speak face-to-face. And he had seen Noctis off with warm parting words that veiled the undercurrent storm of grief and guilt beneath, leaving his son with those words and the mental imprint of his hand reassuringly squeezing his shoulder. Nothing more that could have been considered too “final” for what the moment was meant to be for Noctis: a “see you later” as opposed to a last “goodbye”.

Once upon a time, he hadn’t understood his father’s reluctance to be truthful, he hadn’t _known_. But he understood now, ten years later with the crown of the King of Light weighing ever heavier upon him with the truth of his fate.

Noct understood that hesitation to reveal something so tragic, because he had to undergo the same conflict with his friends. He, too, shared that similar desire to protect the smiles his friends were able to sport despite ten years of darkness, smiles unburdened by despair of knowing their king, their _friend_ would die for the world.

If Regis considered himself cowardly, then perhaps Noctis was as well, or something even _worse_. What good was there in a prince who often dreamt of freedom, who fantasized about escaping the chains of the monarchy? In a prince who _hated_ the implications of his title, hated the magic deeply ingrained into his bloodline for the way it drained the life of the father he so adored. In a prince who, after learning of the reality of his fate, found that there existed a part of him that wanted to rebel, to _run_ because how on earth was such a fate fair? A fate that required a blood sacrifice to somehow bring about the Dawn once more, a destiny written in the stars he so loved and named him a martyr.

He knew he couldn't escape his fate. There was no place to run in the confines of the Crystal, and Noctis couldn’t be selfish.

Perhaps it really was true, that the world and his friends would be better off without him. All he had brought them was misfortune and pain, countless hardships merely due to them standing ever at his side. Noctis had abandoned them for ten years, left them behind in a world rapidly going to ruin without so much as a “goodbye”, and though it hadn’t been his choice, it didn’t take away from the fact that it still had happened. His friends had _suffered_ , and yet they still held faith in him, still loved him as he loved them in return. He didn’t deserve them. But perhaps, with his sacrifice that would return light to the world, he could be made worthy of them and their devotion. That was his sole consolation in the wake of his unfair reality. Despite those rationalizations, there still existed a part of him that _wished_ , foolishly, that he could remain by their side, and have the time to properly learn about the men his friends had grown into in his absence. He wanted to know the men who shared the same names with the boys he had cared for so dearly, the boys who had traveled alongside him and kept him safe. The men who had survived against all odds, unwavering in their loyalty to a boy who had vanished for a decade.

However, Noctis couldn't waste any time. This moment in the past was a miracle in that it allowed him closure he had only ever dreamed about, and in that he was allowed to spend time here while nothing progressed in the future.Of course, he would eventually return, his destiny ever-present on the horizon, and he would save the world for everyone. For the people he had lost, for the people who held hope for a better tomorrow, for the loyal men who still stood by his side a decade later. He would go back and face the men who now knew about what the prophecy of the Chosen King decreed.

Noctis wished so desperately to cultivate and protect that fragile hope for a better tomorrow where all of them could greet the dawn together. He wished he could still keep the promises he had made ten years prior, before he knew what was required of the Chosen King.

“ _Once this is all over, I say we break down the borders--come together as one nation.”_ How could he have known, when he spoke so ambitiously all those years ago, that he wouldn’t be there once it was all over?

_“I’m gonna make this world a better place. You with me?”_ How could he have known how true this statement would be; the world _would_  become a better place, but it wouldn’t be with his ascension to the throne--it would be with his _death_.

In the end, Noctis had to tell his friends the truth of the prophecy, while they sat around a campfire again like they had in better, easier times. He had to tell them, because they deserved to know the reality of it as they walked alongside him towards the ruins of their home. They deserved to know as they inched closer to the Citadel, towards the building that Noct had been born in, grown up in, and would die in. To think, what was once a home would become his final resting place.

Noctis had to tell them, because he loved them, and he knew that even though the truth would hurt them, hiding it from them only for them to have to later find out what happened--find his _body_  because he wasn’t going to survive to see the Dawn--would only hurt them infinitely more. Unlike with Regis and Noctis all those years ago, the culmination of Noct’s destiny was much closer, directly on the horizon, and Noctis could only spare his friends the knowledge for a little while.

And Regis couldn’t tell Noctis back then, because he loved him, and he _knew_ just how much the truth would hurt Noctis and his friends. What use would such terrible knowledge be to four young boys who were optimistic and naive, who were about to embark on a journey outside the confines of the Wall that both housed and caged them, who held hope for bringing peace to their home through a marriage? Such knowledge would only serve to burden them, weigh on their minds and take away from what was supposed to be a fun adventure for four boys eager to see the world.

No, Regis wasn’t a coward in Noct’s eyes, but a kind father who only desired his son’s happiness and safety.

“Dad…” Noctis let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. “I understand why you didn’t tell me. Not at first, yeah, but I did when I learned what it meant to be Chosen King. It wasn’t…. It wasn’t something easy to _learn_ , let alone tell someone about. I get it. I… felt the same, when it came to telling the guys.”

“Ah… so they know, then?” Regis reached over, squeezing Noct’s shoulder as he noted the undertone of grief in his son’s voice.

Noct nodded, the corners of his lips quirking up in a small, wry* smile. “I told them recently, yeah. It wasn’t easy to tell them about. I… wished that I didn’t have to, but I didn’t really have much else of a choice. There isn’t much time left, and I thought they should know before the end. ”

_I thought they should know before they find my corpse when it’s all over_. Noctis thought, but didn’t say aloud. Though, seeing the look in each of the three men’s eyes, Noct felt that maybe they had an inkling as to what was going on in his head.  

“So…” Noct sat up straight, looking his father in the eye. “You have nothing to apologize for. I forgive you for keeping it from me. ...In fact, I guess I should thank you for it. I don’t think the guys and I would have had such a memorable time if we had known about the true prophecy all along.”

Regis seemed to lose some of the tenseness in his shoulders after hearing his son’s confession, as though a weight had been lifted off of them. He managed a smile, soft and fond as he gazed at Noctis. “I am glad to hear that you had a memorable journey, my son. Would you… say you are satisfied with how it all turned out?”

Noctis considered Regis’s words, thinking over them carefully and then reminiscing on his adventure with his friends. He couldn’t help but wryly smile as he remembered all the fun times they had had, chuckling a bit. “Despite all the bad things that happened… and despite the ending… I don’t think I would trade it for the world. Seeing the world with my closest friends, experiencing new things and meeting new people--even helping them and learning from them… Thinking about it, I guess it’d make a great story, like the ones you used to tell me when I was a kid.”

“Indeed,” Regis chuckled at that, maintaining the sudden light-hearted atmosphere. “I feel as though your stories would be infinitely more interesting than any of mine were. Perhaps you should regale us with a tale, then, and let our roles from the past be switched.”

“A bedtime story, and so early in the day, Majesty? Here I thought you too old for those,” Clarus kept a straight face, but mirth played at his expression, creeping into his tone.

Regis glanced at his Shield, huffing as he straightened up in his seat. “One is never too old for stories, Clarus, don’t be foolish. Besides, I’m sure it’s nearing young Cor’s bedtime, no?”

Cor scowled at that, “Must you two continue to treat me like a child whenever you feel like it? Especially you, Your Majesty.”

“See, Clarus, look--he’s getting unruly, he must be exhausted.” The amusement was clear in Regis’s voice, and Clarus let out a snort from his seat beside him.

“...I suppose your age is getting to you, if you desire to sleep so early in the day, _Your Majesty_ ,” Cor grumbled, emphasizing the title sarcastically.

Regis arched a brow at the Marshal while Clarus looked mock-offended. “And what are you implying about myself, then, as I am older than the both of you?”

Cor shrugged, “We all know you’re a bitter old man, Clarus. Maybe your age has gotten to _you_  more than I thought if you’ve forgotten that already.”

“The nerve of children these days, Regis. Especially one child in particular who appears unbelievably older due to the scowl ever-present on his face.”

Noct couldn’t help but let out a little laugh at the light-hearted banter, the scene reminding him a bit of his own friends. He could almost see it: the roar of the campfire, his friends ( _younger, unburdened_ ) laughing at some story or joke, the bright stars in the night sky twinkling above them. He could almost _feel_  it: the warmth of everything and the peace in his heart, his worries smothered by the relaxation he felt being with his dear friends, the sheer fondness that almost made his heart ache.

...Those days were but precious memories to him now, and ones he would cherish to the end.

“Well, then. Guess I can’t leave the  _children_  without a bedtime story. I could start from the very beginning in Hammerhead, or I could tell a story about the other places we saw, the people we met. All the wild things that happened along the way,” Noctis chuckled, thinking of the funny moments, like the dangerous photo-ops with the catoblepas, and the more unbelievable things, like battling the Adamantoise. “Let’s see…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just always gonna apologize for the long wait with these chapters--this time it was due to a combination of writer's block and school/research/work. I finished up my last finals ever though, so there's that. Now to go on to the terrifying reality of graduation and life after it hahahaha let me perish
> 
> I also want to thank all of you who have left me such nice comments on this fic, even with the long gap between updates!! It was unbelievably heartwarming to know people were still interested in this little story of mine; I really, really appreciate all the nice comments you guys have left!! So thank you again! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :D
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://midnightninja14.tumblr.com) here!


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